Runaway - Part 1
by AlessNox
Summary: Torn between a life with Sherlock and his wife Mary, John Watson walks out of the flat and doesn't return. Sherlock and Mary must Join forces to find him and convince him to come home, but which one of them will he return to, Sherlock, or Mary? (This is a rewrite of Runaway pact. Please give me advice to improve this work)
1. A new case for Sherlock

THE STORY SO FAR:

**When John Watson threatens to move out of 221B, Sherlock confesses his love. John leaves and marries Mary anyway. Five months after the wedding, Sherlock is injured saving John. John nurses him back to health and begins a sexual relationship with him. He tells his wife who lets him bring Sherlock into their home until he is better, on the following conditions: 1)That Sherlock leave as soon as he is well, 2) That she never witnesses anything going on between the two, and 3) That John remember his promise that he would stay with her till the end of her days.**

******Still injured and unable to fully reason, Sherlock carries on having a relationship with John. Later it is revealed that much of Sherlock's amorousness and inability to reason was due to a drug incompatibility. Removing the drugs gives Sherlock back his mind, and he is no longer interested in a sexual relationship with John. John is devastated. At** a Christmas/ Sherlock going home party, Sherlock proposes that John leave his wife and return to their old life before Mary. The pressure becomes too much, and John Watson walks out of the flat. He doesn't come home to either of them.

* * *

Sherlock glanced out of the window at 221B Baker street and then rolled his eyes. He listened as the outer door opened, and a light, rapid step charged up the stairs. There was a sharp rap on the door.

"Come in Mrs. Watson," Sherlock said waltzing over to the mantle to observe his skull before turning to face her. "Please Mrs. Watson have a seat. I see that you were in a bit of a rush this morning."

Mary Watson walked across the room and sat in John's chair. Sherlock moved to his own, feeling a bit uncomfortable as he always did whenever someone sat in John's place.

"So how was your first day back home?" Mary asked, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, " Much better than you did. You are quite agitated this morning. Something caused you to rush over here before you even had time for your morning coffee."

"You are quite correct, Mr. Holmes," Mary said clutching her purse as she sat up in her chair, "although I don't know how you know it."

"Then let me explain," he began, " I know that you rushed here in some haste because although you are wearing black pumps on both of your feet, they are obviously not from the same pair. You must have been in quite a rush to make such a mistake. I can tell that you had no coffee from your collar. When I had the good fortune to stay over at your house, I noticed your routine. Every evening, John would program the coffee maker for you and fill it with water so that it would be ready when you awoke. You would dress somewhat haphazardly, sit down at the table and he would pour you a cup of coffee. After you had put on your makeup and jewelry, you would stand before the hall mirror and adjust your cuffs and collar. Today your cuffs and collar are not turned down, therefore you did not have your coffee, therefore John did not come home last night."

"Yes," Mary said, "Have you seen him? Has he been here?"

"No," Sherlock said frowning, "The fact that you haven't either is a bit worrying, but please tell me, what do you have in your purse?"

Mary was clutching the purse tightly in both hands. She opened the clasp and pulled out an envelope, passing it to Sherlock. "I found this this morning. Someone slid it under my door."

Sherlock took the envelope. He examined it from one end to another and sniffed it. "The paper is domestic. The handwriting is John's and the pen is one that he owns, I recognize the ink. There is a scent...strange. It's not John's scent. It's a woman's scent, but there is something odd about it. Hmm. This is interesting. Quite interesting."

"Do you think that he could have been kidnapped?" Mary asked, "I don't believe so. I think that John has just gone walkabout but he still hasn't turned on his phone, and it's been two nights now. It's the note that bothers me. If John wanted to leave me a note. Why not come into the flat? Why put it under the door? It's not like him. None of this is like him."

Sherlock opened the letter and read it. It was in John's hand. It said...

_Mary,_

_Please forgive me for leaving the party and not coming home. I'm sorry, but I need some time alone._

_If I had stayed, I might have said or done something that I would regret. Now, my only regret is that I am not with you. I'm writing this note because I don' t want you to worry._

_I'm hoping that soon, I will be able to explain to you what I'm feeling, but now I haven't figured it out myself. Please don't come after me. Keep the home fires burning._

_Love you,_

_John_

Sherlock folded the letter and put it back into the envelope.

"This is definitely his hand," Sherlock said. "The message seems clear enough. Also it does not include the signals we have agreed upon for forced abduction." Sherlock laid the envelope on the mantle and began to pace.

"Yes, the message seemed genuine to me also, and it doesn't contain our codewords for trouble," Mary said.

Sherlock was standing now with his hands palm to palm. He turned to her. "You have codewords?"

"Of course. John was a military man. He liked to be prepared for emergencies. 'Keep the home fires burning' means stay at home, don't come after me. Plus he doesn't call me 'his little pigeon'," Mary said.

Does he normally call you that?" Sherlock asked furrowing his brow.

"No, he knows I hate pigeons, that's why he would only call me that if he wrote the note under duress. If the letter is longer than twenty five words, it must end with either_ love you_ or _my little pigeon_."

"Interesting," Sherlock said.

"What's your code?" Mary asked.

"A code is most effective when it is private," Sherlock said, "needless to say this note fits my authenticity checks at well. So tell me. What do you think we should do?"

"Go after him," Mary said.

"But he said not to."

"I know. But you are planning to go after him anyway, aren't you?"

"Of course, but I don't understand. Why tell me when you know that I will try to find him before you do?"

"That is exactly why I have come. I've come as a client. Sherlock Holmes, I would like to employ you to find my husband, and bring him back home."


	2. Fencing with Mary

Sherlock stared at Mary. He leaned back in surprise, "A case? You want me to find John as a case?"

"That's what you do isn't it?" she remarked. "You're a detective. You find things."

"But why should I take this case?"

Mary gave a small smile. "I simply know that you will."

"No, sorry, I refuse. Good Morning. Be off with you. I've got some reading to do," Sherlock said shooing her away and then turning to fiddle with the mail speared to his mantlepiece."

"Mr Holmes, I know that you will take this case because you want to find John as much as I do."

"Don't you think that it would be more appropriate for us to let him think? To decide about his feelings like he said that he would in the letter? Don't you trust him to make the right decision?"

"No."

"So you don't respect his opinion?"

"Mr Holmes, I want to talk to him, to explain some things. We never had a chance to discuss...well anything. And it's Christmas. I'm afraid of what he'll do. and you want to talk to him too, don't you? You said something to him, before he left didn't you."

"I may have said one or two words to him, yes."

"Do you want those to be the last words that he hears from you when he decides that we are both two much trouble and leaves us?"

"Do you really think he will?" Sherlock asked, emotions never being his strongest subject. "You think that John plans to leave us both?"

"I don't know what John thinks! He's been acting strange for quite a while now. I thought that I knew him, but I can tell that he's hit some place. Some place in his heart where he's never let me in."

"Could it be that he's thinking about me?"

"No, I know that part of him," Mary said. "I've always known his feelings for you even when he didn't."

"What do you know?"

"That he loves you," Mary said. "That he respects you. That he admires you sometimes, and that he thinks that you need taking care of."

"So why don't you let him take care of me? Divorce him."

"Excuse me?"

"That's my fee if you want me to take the case."

Mary shook her head. "No, I could never do that."

"Why not?"

"Because John needs me," Mary said. Sherlock scoffed then and turned away from her. "Like you need John, he needs me. You've never been enough for him. Haven't you even noticed? If John was perfectly happy with you, why the string of girlfriends? If you were enough to satisfy him, why did he keep looking?"

Sherlock frowned. "I don't know why?"

"I'll tell you. It's because John needs affection, and you are a selfish, narcissistic, rude, insensitive jerk who tramples on the feelings of others."

"I'm not insensitive!"

"Yes you are."

"So you think that John would prefer to live with you? I was half out of my mind from the drugs, otherwise you would have driven me mad with boredom. John needs danger in his life. Do you think that he would be content taking care of colds and acne and coming home to listen to you prattle on about the obnoxious children that you babysit all day? I don't know how you've lasted this long? John will go insane without me. He needs me, and I will tell him so when I find him.

"So you will take the case, Mr Holmes?"

"What about the fee?"

"We'll decide it later, but divorce will not be an option."

"Alright," Sherlock agreed. "I'll take the case, and I'll have it solved by Christmas."

"Thank You, Mr. Holmes," Mary replied before getting up to make some tea.


	3. Devil in a Red Dress

Sherlock paced back and forth in front of the fireplace at 221B Baker street. Mary walked in from the kitchen, and placed a mug of hot tea on the mantle beside him. He stared at it for a moment, deduced that it was not drugged, and then took a sip.

"Two sugars, is that right?" she asked. He nodded and kept pacing. Mary sat down in John's chair nursing her own mug. She took a sip and then turned toward him, "What are you thinking of?" she asked.

"What?" Sherlock barked stopping to look at her over his clapped hands.

"John told me that you work best when you can tell someone else what you are thinking. So tell me what are you thinking about right now?"

"Paper," Sherlock said. "I'm thinking of paper."

Mary took a large breath and sat back in her chair. "Paper... hmmm...paper is sold everywhere," Mary said.

"Regular paper, yes, but this is stationary. Made specifically for writing letters. Who still writes letters in this age of email and voice mail?" Sherlock rushed over to his computer and sat down, "hand me that note will you?"

Mary stared at Sherlock for a moment, then she stared at the mantle where the letter was. The mantle where Sherlock had been standing just moments before. She stood up, walked over, picked up the note, and walked back across the room to where Sherlock sat at the computer. She thrust the letter under his nose, and he took it.

Sherlock opened the envelope, and lifted the note toward the light. "Ah ha!" he said.

"What is it?"

"A watermark. Now we are getting somewhere." He typed on the computer. "The Chamberlain paper company. Now if I can find their sales locations in London..."

Mary turned and walked slowly around the room. She looked at the skull poster and the skull on the mantle. She stared at the framed bug collection with the bat in it, and at the dagger holding down the mail. "Is this why the RSVP to our wedding had a hole in it?"

"I've found it! Chamberlain papers are sold in twenty five locations in the London area. This particular stationary is sold in ten stores. It's not quite enough information yet, but this scent..." He smelled the paper again. "I've done quite a study on perfumes, you know. I don't suppose you read my monograph. It's on the website. You for example are wearing an cheap knock-off of Chanel no. 5, but this perfume is not any of the commercially available ones. I'm sure of it. It seems to have a bit of something musky to it. If I can get to the lab, I could use the mass spectrometer."

He turned back to his computer. Then he jumped. "Musk Ambrette!" he yelled.

"What is that?"

"Musk Ambrette, a scent once very popular until it was banned for it's neurotoxic properties. That was almost 100 years ago. Not very many places in London where one could get access to such a substance. Off hand, I can think of only three. Two are chemical supply companies. Unlikely the perfume came from there. The third is a specialty perfumery, **Ariadne's of Paris**. They make custom perfumes. And there is a shop that sells Chamberlain stationary not a block from their London store. We've found them!"

"So we have an area to search, but all we know is that the person who gave John the stationary went there."

Sherlock paced around to stand in front of her, "We know more than that," he said. " We know that the person, woman most likely, orders her own perfume to be made. Not many people do that, so she must be fairly well to do. She is older. How else would she know to request a smell that has not been found in perfumes for decades? Scents don't last forever. So John goes to see a rich, older woman who lives nearby. Who does John know who lives in this area?" Sherlock peered at the computer screen.

Mary stood up and laid a hand on his shoulder as she peered around him. He turned to stare at her, and she removed her hand. "She may not be that rich," Mary said. "If perfume is important to her job, she would pay extra for something exotic."

"But who needs perfume for their job?" Sherlock asked.

"Someone to whom image is important: a clothing designer, a brothel owner, a performer."

"Wait a second. I seem to remember something. Let me look in my index." Sherlock tapped rapidly on his computer then he smiled and slapped his thigh. "This is it, I'm sure of it."

Mary peered over his shoulder. "Brandywine's Nightclub and Cabaret?" She read, "I've never heard of it."

"I don't suppose that you have, but it is quite famous in certain circles. I knew it from the 'Oud'."

"The what?"

"_Oud_! It's a perfume ingredient extracted from the hardwood of aquilara and gyrinop trees. I smelled it in that perfume, and it surprised me because it is used almost exclusively in men's cologne."

"So how does that tell you that he went here?" Mary asked.

"Because Brandywine's is a locale frequented by cross-dressers."

"You mean men dressed as women?"

"Exactly. Whoever helped John is there. Perhaps the famous Brandywine herself. That's where we must go. But first, I'll have to change into something a little more conspicuous."

* * *

Sherlock threw clothes across the room as he searched for the proper costume. Mary glanced over at him from time to time as he discard first one garment and then the other. "Got it!" he said and rushed off to the bathroom.

He returned some time later wearing a straight knee-length red shift with a brown shoulder length wig. "There," he said, "I'm ready."

Mary looked him up and down appraisingly, "You're not going out like that are you?" she asked.

"What's wrong with it?"

"For one, the line on the back of your stocking isn't straight." She dropped down on her knees behind Sherlock and carefully straightened his stockings. "And these heels are a bit wicked. You should have gotten something wider."

"Do you know how hard it is to find red pumps in my size?" Sherlock commented.

Mary looked up at him. "Sit down and let me do your hair."

Sherlock walked to the kitchen and sat down. Mary fetched a brush from the bathroom and she ran it across the wig a few times, using her thumbs to adjust his curls so that they didn't peek out from under it. She bent sideways examining his face, and then rushed off returning a moment later with her purse. "I don't have much make up with me, but you can do with a bit of blush. I'd use my foundation but you are so pale."

"I've got makeup in the box over there," Sherlock said pointing.

Mary opened the box and exclaimed, "My! You have more than I do. Do you often play dress up?"

"I do not _play dressup_! However I am occasionally required to disguise myself."

Mary raised an eyebrow and then, picked out some red lipstick. She placed three fingers on Sherlock's cheek to keep his face still while she applied deep red to his lips. "You have such beautiful full lips. I'm envious," she said drawing a defining line around the edge of his lips and spreading it out with her thumb. "So distinctive. This powder is the wrong color, but I think that it will be okay on your neck to minimize these moles."

"Is there something wrong with my skin?" Sherlock asked dewy-eyed as a school girl.

"Hush, I'm doing your cheek line," she said holding the base of his chin in one hand as she brushed softly across the skin of Sherlock's cheeks. He closed his eyes. He opened them again when he noticed that she was no longer moving. Mary was regarding him. She frowned. "So high. So exotic. I was never exotic," she said. Then she shrugged and pulled out a black pencil to accent Sherlock's eyes. He closed his eyes again as she ran her thumb across his eyelids smearing together the dark blues and reds. "With your hair, you can pull off smoky. I could never do smoky. Makes me look like I've gone a month with no sleep. On you it looks sultry. What I wouldn't give to look sultry once in a while."

"But you are very well favored," Sherlock said. "I have heard John remark that your beauty was unrivaled, and he has known women from three continents."

Mary smiled briefly. "We're going to have to trim your eyebrows."

"No!" Sherlock said pulling away from her grip. "No plucking eyebrows. They don't grow back."

"Then we'll use wax then. Do you have a candle?"

Sherlock found a candle, and she applied it to his eyebrows shaping them so that they formed a more orderly mass. She primped and polished Sherlock, finally giving him her seal of approval. "Now stand properly! No, put one heel against the arch of the other one. That's better. Oh and I forgot!" Mary took the silver beaded necklace off of her own neck and put it on Sherlock's. She had to stand on a chair to do it, and it fit like a choker on him, but it complemented his red dress perfectly.

He walked into the living room and looked at himself in the mirror. "Not bad," he said brushing out his hair with the back of his hand. "You wait here. I'll be back soon."

"I'm going with you."

"But you'll blow my cover!"

"Mr Holmes, I'm not letting you out of my sight." They stared at each other for a moment and then he nodded. Mary walked back inside returning a moment later wearing her coat and holding her purse. She placed a fur stole on Sherlock's shoulders, then they went out.

Sherlock flagged down a taxi, but had to let it go when he found that he had left his wallet in his coat. Mary only had enough money for the train. After an arduous trip where Sherlock was propositioned not once, but twice, they arrived at Brandywine's.

"Are you sure this is it?" Mary asked.

"This is the proper address," he said, "places like this often wish to remain... inconspicuous." Sherlock turned the handle and entered.

The room was half-empty. There was a stage with a blue light shining down but no one was on it. The bartender looked up at them and then away. Mary motioned to a table in the back and sat down.

"So do you think John came here?" she asked, "It isn't his usual type of bar, unless there's more about him that I don't know."

"I'm not certain of anything yet," Sherlock said, his deep voice incongruous with his appearance. "We have to gather evidence first." Sherlock picked up a matchbook and sniffed it. He handed it to Mary who put it in her bag.

A tall woman came over to their table then. She wore a green velvet floor length gown and diamond earrings. "Hello," she said, "You're new here. My name is Brandywine and this is my place."

Sherlock reached out a hand. "I'm ..." he started to say then he stopped. He hadn't thought of an appropriate name yet.

"This is his first time out," Mary chimed in. "He hasn't gotten used to introducing himself to others yet. He likes to be called, Vacua."

Sherlock glared at her before looking back at the woman in green.

"And you are?"

"Mary, I'm his counselor. He's working through some ... gender identity issues."

"I see. Well, Vacua, I must say that you are looking stunning today. Do you sing?"

"I..uh..." Sherlock stuttered.

"Because if you do, there's a place for you in my cabaret. That figure is to die for."

"I was wondering," Sherlock interjected, "If you've seen a friend of mine, short blond hair, wearing a black coat, calls himself John."

"I know a lot of Johns. But we have an official no gossip policy here. You could be his best friend and his wife, and I wouldn't say a word to you about it. But here." Brandywine slipped Sherlock a card, "Consider my offer. I really think that you have promise. Enjoy the show." She smiled then and walked away.

Sherlock sniffed the card before handing it to Mary. She smelled it. "It's the same perfume."

"Yes, John has definitely been here."

"So where does that leave us?" Mary asked.

"It means that I'm going to have to do something a bit embarrassing," Sherlock said biting his lip.

"More embarrassing than dressing as a woman?" Mary asked.

"Yes." He said frowning. "I'm going to have to beg for help from my brother."


	4. A Visit to Mycroft

They returned to 221B Baker street so that Sherlock could change, and then Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text.

**[Need your help - SH]**

The reply came rapidly.

**[Expecting your call, meet me at the office. MH]**

Sherlock was subdued and quiet on the taxi ride there, nervously tapping his foot with a sullen expression on his face. Mary kept glancing over at him clutching her purse, the letter still inside.

They walked up to a government building. It was after hours and the doors were locked, but a woman in a tasteful suit opened the door for them, led them into the elevator and up to Mycroft's office.

The room was all brown with a large bookshelf and red curtains draped beside government casement windows. Mycroft sat behind a large desk. The walls were sparsely decorated except for a portrait of the queen on the wall behind him. There were two phones. Mary couldn't help wondering if the red phone really did call the prime minister. Mycroft rose from his desk and smiled at Mary. He was wearing a grey three piece suit.

"Ah, Mrs Watson, always a pleasure," he said motioning to the chairs in front of him. "Please have a seat."

His lip curled slightly as he looked down his nose at Sherlock. "I knew that I'd be hearing from you soon, although I expected it a little earlier. Then again you have been busy. You've been taking part in some...interesting amusements lately. Excuse me for saying so brother, but red is not your color."

Sherlock sneered. "Good evening Mycroft. I assume you know why we've come."

"Of course. John has... how would you say it in Australia, Mrs Watson? Gone walkabout?"

Sherlock and Mary glanced at each other. Mycroft opened a piece of furniture topped by a lamp and pulled out a flatscreen computer pad. It looked strange in his conservatively styled office. He pushed aside his desk lamp and touched the screen in a practiced manner until it separated into four images. Some of the images were a bit choppy.

"This is CCTV data from the night of the party," Mycroft said. Sherlock and Mary leaned forward to see better. Two of the cameras showed different views of a man sitting on a park bench.

"Is that John?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "He left the party and walked around the area. Then he spent a considerable amount of time in the park, before taking the subway here." Mycroft pushed another button and the scene changed to a city street. John was walking up out of the tube station, pulling his coat around him, the wind blowing tiny droplets of frozen rain into his face. Sherlock and Mycroft were focused on the images, but Mary stared at Mycroft.

"Do you mean to say that John is under surveillance all of the time?"

"Of course. As a close associate of my brother, I like to keep tabs on him. It has proven valuable once or twice."

"So, am I under surveillance as well?" Mary asked nervously.

"No. No need. You have very regular habits. You only go to work, the bank, and the grocery store, with the occasional visit to the Goldilocks beauty parlor. It's not worth the expense to have you watched, but John. John can at times be very...surprising."

"So this is how you get your kicks by watching John?" Sherlock commented knavishly.

"Hardly, he's only one of many people that we keep an eye on," Mycroft said crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk.

"Of course," Sherlock said with a mocking smile, "Then where did he go?"

"Unfortunately, after this image we lost him."

"I thought that your coverage was complete," Mary said.

"We try to make it so, but there are occasional maintenance problems. The storm frosted the glass on the camera, however, he was moving in a determined manner and we were able to localize his destination to this street." Mycroft pulled a piece of note paper out of his desk drawer and slid it across the desk. Sherlock took the paper and read it, then he passed it to Mary.

"That's Harry's street," Mary said. She pulled out her phone, turning away as she dialed.

"There is a nightclub. We are certain that John has been there, sometime yesterday, or the day before."

"What address?"

Sherlock handed him the card that Brandywine had given him, and Mycroft pulled the pad toward him and began to type. "Time?"

"Sometime after that view that you showed us."

"Harry's not answering," Mary said. "Do you suppose that she could have gone with him?"

"I didn't think that John was very close to his sister," Sherlock remarked.

Mycroft pushed the tablet back onto the desk, adjusting the screen to show the door of Brandywine's. He pushed a button and a succession of images moved quickly across the screen. Sherlock focused on the people. "Stop!" Sherlock said, "there." The camera froze on an image of John standing before the door.

"That's Harry with him," Mary said.

"So he went in. Where did he go afterward?"

Mycroft made the screen scroll ahead quickly. Several people entered and exited. Sherlock reached out and stopped the screen. Three people were leaving together. They walked to the corner. Harry and the girl peeled off and went in one direction, while John continued down the street alone. He passed under a bridge, and they switched to another camera but he never came out. They scrolled ahead, minutes, hours later and into the next day, but he had just vanished. "It seems that Dr Watson has ... to hazard an expression,_ 'given us the slip'_. See what I mean? He is surprising," Mycroft said with a smile.

"Go back again," Sherlock said, and Mycroft rewound. John walked backwards out of the tunnel, met up with Harry and the woman and they walked back to the door. Then he froze the image. John's face was turned away as was Harry's. The third woman stood in front blocking them from the camera.

"That's not John," Mary said.

Sherlock turned toward her, " What do you mean? That's his coat. I'm sure of it. He got that tear jumping over a railing while we chased down an arsonist. He kept going on about it."

Mary shook her head, "That may be his coat, but that's not him."

Sherlock turned back to the image and focused his attention on the screen, then he sighed. "His watch," he said.

"Yes. He bought that with his discharge money. He never goes anywhere without it."

"So, someone in the bar, Brandywine most likely, helped him escape, and these people were just there to lead us astray," Sherlock said.

"This Brandywine person," Mycroft began, "perhaps she could be persuaded?"

"She's already told us no. Go back a bit will you?"

Mycroft pushed the button. The real John, Harry, and another woman stood in front of the door. The woman turned to look over her shoulder. He stopped the picture. The woman had hair that was dyed three different colors.

"Who is that?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know," Mary said.

"I will find out," Mycroft asserted.


	5. Missing You

Sherlock walked up the steps into his silent apartment. He had dropped Mary off at home on his way from Mycroft's office. Despite all of his effort, they were no closer to finding John than they had been that morning. Sherlock stood at the doorway with his hand on the light switch unmoving. He had done this ever since John had moved out of the flat. It allowed him to imagine, for a moment, that John was there, just out of sight. Perhaps he had dozed off in his chair and the sun had set while he slept. Perhaps he was upstairs in his room already gone to bed, and Sherlock would see his coat on the hook and his washed mug in the dish rack, his laptop sitting on the desk. When Sherlock switched on the light he had to remind himself that a true scientist must see the world as it is, and not the way one wishes it to be.

Sherlock missed John. He missed his smile, his witty comments, the talks that they would have over dinner where the only sustenance that Sherlock needed was John's presence.

John had asked, _"If I came home with you, moved back to Baker street, would it be the way that it was between us?"_

But Sherlock had not responded in the way that John had hoped, and he had left. If he would have said the right thing then, would John be here now with him waiting to make him a mug of tea?

_The way that it was between them._ At the time, Sherlock had thought that he knew what John meant by that: Working together. Living together. Being constantly in each other's company. Now when he thought back on it he realized that John was asking him something altogether more sentimental.

Despite his rough exterior, John was a sentimental man. He believed in Queen and Country, friendship and loyalty. He believed in true love. Had he found such a thing with Mary, or had he been trying to tell Sherlock that he had finally found such a love with him? What had John wanted of him? Should he have gotten down on one knee and asked John for his hand? It was a bit late for that.

John had kissed him, and he had pulled away. It wasn't meant to be a rejection. It was just ... too much. One more thing to catalog in a long queue of experiences waiting to be cataloged. Ever since his mind had started to clear from the drugs, Sherlock had been trying to catalog the experiences that he had felt in the last weeks. He had needed to clear out entire basements in his _mind palace_ to fit in all of the new sensations: The sharp smell of smoke and gunpowder. The feel of flying through the air. Of hitting the concrete and rolling down. The blistering heat and then creeping cold feeling of blood flowing out of him. The way it pooled around his fingers as he tried to move, but couldn't. The trembling waver in John's voice as he told him that he would be fine, that the ambulance was on his way. That everything would be alright in the end.

But it wasn't alright, because John wasn't here. John had left before Sherlock had even been able to catalog the other sensations that he had felt. The feel of John's fingers on his arm. The press of John's soft lips against his own. The salty taste of his sweat. The way that Sherlock's pulse had raced at the sound of John muttering, _"Sherlock, Sherlock!"_ over and over.

Sherlock fought the urge to turn the light off again. He walked toward the mantle staring into the mirror, but no matter where he looked, it failed to show him John anywhere in the room.

Sherlock turned at the sound of the door opening and footsteps on the stairs. He ran across to the door flinging it open as he cried out, "John!"

He looked down and saw Mary Watson carrying a pair of suitcases. Sherlock's face, hopes, and heart fell to the floor. Mary dropped her head and slowed her step as Sherlock turned away to walk back onto the living room.

When Mary entered, he was at the mantle again. "I'm sorry," she said, "I would have rung the bell, but I was afraid that you might not let me in."

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked, his back to her.

"I'm moving in," Mary said. " I told you before that I wasn't going to let you out of my sight. Can you show me to John's room? I'm sorry to admit it, but I've never seen it."

Sherlock turned and led her up the stairs. Mary followed him in as he turned on the light.

"I've been using it for storage," he said. "It's not suitable for guests."

Mary looked around. Boxes were stacked on all of the flat surfaces and against the wall, but the bare mattress in the center of the room was clear. She sat on the bed and put her bags beside her. Sherlock turned his face away.

"Do you have any sheets?" she asked.

"I'll get some," he said escaping down the stairs.

Mary pushed her suitcases onto the floor and fell back on the bed. She put her hand to her stomach. _"What was that?"_ she thought. Sherlock Holmes had only ever showed her one side of his personality. The hard, exotic, brilliant, disdainful side. When he had imagined her to be John, Sherlock had almost overpowered her with his emotion. When he saw that she wasn't John...the hurt that he showed was so deep that she thought it would bowl her over. Was this the Sherlock that John knew? _"Oh God,"_ she thought._ "Why did I even come here?"_


	6. A sleepover with Sherlock

Sherlock came out of his room the next morning wrapped in his blue dressing gown. Mrs Hudson brought in the newspaper. "Good Morning Sherlock," she said putting the paper on the table, "and how are you feeling this morning?"

"Terrible," Sherlock said. "The muscles on my side feel like they are on fire. It took three pain killers just so that I felt good enough to sit up this morning."

"Oh Sherlock, do you think that you might need to go back to the hospital?"

"I've had quite enough of hospitals, Mrs Hudson."

"I know what you mean," she said. "They never were able to give me the drugs I needed for my hip. If you want, I can let you have one of my herbal soothers."

"I'd appreciate that, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said opening the paper to the crime report.

There was a footstep on the stairs. Mrs Hudson looked up and saw Mary Watson walk by carrying a bucket full of toiletries and wearing fluffy bunny slippers and a flower-print bath robe. She entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Mrs Hudson stared, "Sherlock? Was that Mrs Watson?"

"Yes. She'll be staying over for a few days," Sherlock said turning the page.

"Is John here too?"

"No. John's away somewhere else."

Mrs Hudson frowned, "I don't think that I approve of this situation."

Sherlock folded down the top of the newspaper and looked at her. "What don't you approve of, Mrs Hudson?"

"You can't just stay alone in an apartment with a married woman. It's not decent."

"But John was married and he stayed over. What's the problem?"

"It's not the same. Well, you know your business, Sherlock, but I'd be careful if I were you." Mrs Hudson shook her head and walked down the stairs.

Mary came out of the bathroom fully dressed. She placed her bucket on a chair and walked over to the refrigerator. Then she pulled out some eggs and began to cook them.

Sherlock put down one section of the paper and picked up another. "There's some instant coffee in the cabinet if you want it," he said. Mary opened the cabinet and stared at the coffee container, then she closed the cabinet, and went back to cooking her eggs.

"Would you like some eggs?" she asked.

"No thank you."

Mary shrugged as she spooned the eggs onto her plate. There was a ring and Sherlock whipped out his phone, "It's me," he said, "What do you want, Lestrade? I can't, I'm on a case now. Of course not, why would I lie about a case? Fine." He closed the phone and put it back in his pocket.

"What did Greg say?" Mary asked shaking pepper on her eggs.

"Greg... said that he'll be right over."

Mary ate her eggs in silence, then she took her plate to the sink and washed it while Sherlock examined her with a critical eye. He glanced at the cabinet and then back at Mary who was wiping her hands on the towel. He furrowed his brow. "Your collar is up," he said.

Mary faced him. Her expression strangely neutral and unfocused. "Thank you," she said, and she walked over to the mirror to adjust her collar and cuffs before going back up the stairs to John's room.

Sherlock rose from his chair and held his hand to his side. The pain had returned. He limped over to the mantle, and took another pair of pain pills before walking into his room. Ten minutes later, he was back in front of the fireplace pacing as he tried to guess where John would hide.

There was a ring at the door. and Mary rushed down the stairs.

Sherlock walked over to the computer to check John's blog. There were no updates. _"It's not as if there have been any new cases since the accident."_ Sherlock thought, _"I have been remarkably unproductive of late. Even so, I'm lost without my blogger."_

He looked up as Mary Watson entered the room carrying a shoe box. "What's wrong with Mrs Hudson?" Mary asked, "She gave me the strangest look."

"Nothing important. So, what's in the box?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a present for you," Mary answered smiling.

Sherlock took the box carefully as if it held a bomb. He opened it. "Ah, a pair of women's shoes," he said taking the black pumps out of the box. "Why?"

"You said that had difficulty finding woman's shoes in your size, so I bought you a pair. Notice the heel. It's wider. Now try them on."

"You want me to try them on now?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, while there is still time to return them."

Sherlock turned sideways in his chair and started to bend over to untie his shoes when Mary put out a hand. "Allow me," she said, "I take care of preschoolers. I'm used to tying and untying shoes." Mary knelt down on her knees and untied Sherlock's shoes. He lifted his feet out, and Mary placed the black pumps onto them.

"Now, stand up and tell me how it feels?"

Sherlock stood in the high-heeled pumps bending over to get a look at them. He lost his balance and fell forward. Mary reached up to steady his hips, and he grabbed at her head and shoulders until he regained his balance. He glanced down at Mary. She looked up at him, and then they both turned to the door at the sound of a gasp. Mrs Hudson stood watching them, her hand covering her mouth before she turned and rushed down the stairs.

"What was that about?" Mary asked.

"I believe that Mrs Hudson might have mishapprehended our actions," Sherlock said before sitting down and removing the shoes. He placed his own back on, as Mary packed the pumps in the shoe box.

There was a knock on the door frame and Lestrade stretched his head around the corner. "Is everything alright? Mrs Hudson said that I had better give you warning before I came in."

Sherlock finished tying his shoes and then stood. "So what is it?"

"Double murder," Lestrade said, "Will you come?"

"No, I said that I was busy. I am working on a case for Mrs Watson."

"Hello Mary," Lestrade said. "Where's John?"

"John's not here," Sherlock said. "That is what I am working on."

"John's gone? Has he been hurt? Should I put out a missing person's report?"

"No. Nothing like that, he's just gone on a trip," Mary said.

"Where?" Lestrade asked.

"We are in the process of discovering that," Sherlock replied.

"He didn't tell you where he was going?"

"No," Mary said curtly.

"Did he have any appointments planned? Where is he supposed to be now?" Lestrade asked

"Well, he was invited to speak at a medical conference but we canceled that weeks back. I called yesterday to see if he had gone anyway, but he wasn't there."

"No," Sherlock said pressing his palms together. "He wouldn't go anywhere that he would expect us to look for him. John's too smart for that."

"Are you saying that he doesn't want to be found? What reason would he have to leave both of you? Are you sure that he isn't just out Christmas shopping?"

"I think not," Sherlock said, "But let's check his credit records to be sure."

Sherlock typed rapidly. Mary looked over his shoulder. "That's my bank account! How did you get the password?"

"Neither you nor John are very imaginative when it comes to passwords. Honestly, didn't anyone ever tell you never to use a date?"

Sherlock glanced at the screen and then he tossed his head in frustration, "Well, he is wisely avoiding using his credit cards. He must have decided, correctly, that they are too traceable. There was, however, a sizable withdrawal from his savings account. Did you know about this Mrs Watson?"

Mary peered at the screen, "That's John's mad money. He always said that he was saving for a trip to Barbados."

"Do you think that's where he's gone?" Lestrade asked?

"Without his passport? Hardly," Sherlock scoffed. "He can't have gone too far. If only we could localize...Ah! his phone. Why didn't I think of it beforehand?" Sherlock typed and a map image popped up on the screen. "There's John. He's in London. Mary and I will just pop over and get him."

Mary looked over Sherlock's shoulder at the screen. "He's near our flat," Mary said, "But why does his location keep changing? Is he looking for something?"

"I don't know, but we best go quickly." Sherlock rose to his feet, "Come along, Mrs Watson."

"But Sherlock," Lestrade said.

"I told you, I'm busy now, solve it yourself." Sherlock said as he donned his gloves and his coat. "Mrs Watson, bring my pain medicine will you, it's on the mantle."

Mary walked over and lifted the bottle. "But where is the rest of it? It was full when you left our flat." Sherlock marched down the stairs, and Mary followed.

A taxi ride and a quick look at the laptop showed that John had returned to their flat. Mary rushed up the steps. She unlocked the door, picking up a package propped against the door frame as she entered. It was dark. Mary walked into the kitchen and turned on the light, placing the package on the table before walking through all the rooms. "John!" she called as she ran into the bedroom without finding him.

Sherlock put one hand against the table to steady himself. The climb had winded him. "It says that he's here," Sherlock said looking at the map on his phone. He dialed John's number, and the package on the table rang. Sherlock tore it open to reveal John's phone.

"He mailed it home?" Mary said watching as Sherlock picked it up, his fingers flying across the keys as he looked at the messages.

"The last message he sent to himself. "_Gone on trip. Don't follow. Love You. John._"

Mary crossed her arms and rocked worriedly, but Sherlock smiled a fierce smile. "Good one John," he said before falling down into the chair.

"You haven't recovered yet," Mary said. "You just sit there. Let me get you some tea."

"I'll be fine. Let's keep looking."

"No, you will sit there while I brew the tea, and then I will take you back to Baker street and put you to bed. I was wrong to force you to move about so soon."

"But I can find him."

"I'll start the tea," Mary said daring him to oppose her.

"You know Mary Watson, you are almost as stubborn as John is," Sherlock said.

"Thank you," she replied. "I take that as a compliment."

* * *

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door. He was startled to find that he had been sleeping and everything was in the wrong place. Then he realized that he was back in Mary's flat. She came in with a package of pills and some groceries. "I went to the hospital and got your medicine, " she said. "They had stopped your prescription because of the reaction. That's why you haven't been recovering as quickly, but you'll feel better once you've had some. Here's your medicine, I'll get you some water." Mary put the bottle on the table and walked into the kitchen.

Sherlock picked up the medicine bottle and read it. "But this is the same medicine as last time. The medicine that made it so that I could not think."

Mary walked back in with the water glass. "Yeah, I noticed that. I asked about it, but they said not to worry. It was the interaction of two medicines that caused the problem. They stopped the other medicine, so this one should be fine."

"I'm not taking it."

"You need to take it if you want to get better."

"Find something else, I won't take that."

Mary opened the bottle and poured two pills into the cap. "It's what they prescribed. Open up."

Sherlock turned his mouth away. "Just give me more of the pain medicine. I'll be fine."

"You are taking this pill, or we will go to the hospital and I'll have them force it down your throat."

Sherlock's shoulders sagged. He opened his mouth and Mary dropped the pills onto his tongue. She handed him the glass and he drank. "There, very good," she said smiling as she took the glass and walked back into the kitchen. Sherlock watched to see that she was gone before removing the pills from under his tongue and hiding them under the sofa pillow.

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened as Mary walked past him. She returned with a pillow and a duvet. She bent down on her knees lifting Sherlock's head and placing the pillow under it, then she covered him with the duvet. "You need your rest," she said.

Sherlock breathed in deeply. The pillow smelled of John. She must have take it off of her own bed. He closed his eyes imagining what John looked like when he slept, only to open his eyes a moment later when he noticed that Mary had not yet gone. He turned to face her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have made you leave before you were well, but I'll take care of you now until you are well enough to be on your own again."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I understood why you wanted me to leave. What I don't understand is why you are helping me now. We are rivals after all."

"Of course, I'll help you. I want you to get well. You are ...very important to me."

Sherlock frowned. "Important? Why am I important to you?"

"Because you're important to John, silly. Now get some sleep. We have more searching to do tomorrow." Mary patted his shoulder and then walked off leaving Sherlock wondering until he finally drifted off to sleep. He woke with a start in the middle of the night, a sharp pain in his chest.

Sherlock sat up and walked to the table. His bottle of pain pills was almost empty. He knew before opening it that it wouldn't be enough. His mind had cleared after he had stopped taking the old medicine, but the pain was almost as bad at preventing his mind from working properly. On the other hand, Sherlock knew how to deal with pain.

He walked over to the closet and searched until he found John's medical kit. He carried it back to the couch and opened it searching the contents until he found the bottle that he was looking for. John had been an army doctor. He never felt safe unless he was prepared for all emergencies. Sherlock removed a needle from the container and placed it on the end of a syringe. A little morphine was all that he needed to get by.


	7. The girl with the three color hair

Mary, Mary, wake up Mary."

Mary opened her eyes to find Sherlock Holmes, coat and all, standing beside her bed. She sat up, only afterwards remembering to cover her nightgown with the sheet.

"Hurry and get dressed," he said.

"What is it? Have they found John?"

"No, but Mycroft called. They found the girl with the three-color hair, so do hurry and put on some clothes, and please leave off on the twenty minute moisturizing treatment today. You look fine."

Sherlock stormed out of the room, then leaving the door open.

Mary fell back on the bed and sighed. She gave herself a moment, and then she rose to her feet, pulling on her robe and rushing off to the bathroom to shower.

Some time later an impatient Sherlock walked through the doors of Scotland Yard with Mary shuffling along at his heels. Lestrade glanced at the two of them, but wisely did not mention John's absence as he ushered them into an observation room. On the other side of the glass was the woman from the video, the woman with the three color hair. She was young, in her early twenties. She wore a gold nose ring, and absentmindedly rubbed her elbow as she glanced from side to side, clearly nervous at being detained.

"About time you showed up. She's been here for over an hour. Why did you need us to pick her up anyway? Your brother made it seem like it was a matter of national security. "

"Nothing quite so trivial. She is the last person to have seen John Watson. We thought that she might know his whereabouts."

Lestrade frowned. "Are you telling me that we brought that woman in to help you find out where your best friend is hiding? Really, Sherlock. I can't be using state resources on this kind of thing. I was in enough trouble before you came back. Let's not get you banned from all cases, again."

"Lestrade, calm yourself. We only need a few moments to find out what she knows, and then you can let her go. If you have any difficulties, I'm sure that my brother can iron them out. He practically is the government."

"So you've said, but if she starts spouting off about unfair treatment at Scotland Yard, my job might come under review again and ..."

"Yes, yes understood, now let me talk to her.."

Lestrade opened the door and Sherlock strode in followed by Mary. He sat across the table from the woman, folding his hands as he stared across at her. Mary and Lestrade took seats on either side.

The young woman looked nervously at the three of them. Then she stuck out her lower lip in anger saying, "Why have you brought me heah? I got rights! You can't just pick people up off of the street for no reason. I was going to work. They're going to dock my pay, and who's gonna get me that money back, I'd like to know."

"Eczema?" Sherlock said.

"What?"

"You have eczema."

The woman looked at him curiously, "How do you know that?"

"It's there on the edge of your hairline, seborrhoeic dermatitis, sometimes called 'cradle cap'. You have it off and on, but now its been flaring up on your arm as well."

"Yeah. But what does that have to do with anythin' "

"You need to stop wearing those wool jumpers. They irritate your skin."

"Is that why you brought me here? Because of my eczema? That's daft!"

"No, I brought you here to tell me where John Watson is."

The woman's face, which had softened a bit, became firm again. "Who?"

"Come now, you were seen entering an establishment called Brandywine's with him. Where is he now?"

"Am I being charged with somethin'?"

"No, Miss," Lestrade chimed it. "We are simply seeking information."

"Then, you have no right to keep me heah. I'm going to lodge a complaint with the IPCC. "

Lestrade frowned. Sherlock opened his mouth about to begin another round of questioning, when he was distracted by Mary who leaned across the table to touch the woman's hand. The woman with three color hair looked up at Mary who smiled back at her.

"Hello," Mary said.

The woman was momentarily taken aback. She stared at her.

"My name is Mary, Mary Watson. I'm John's wife. Do you mind if I ask you your name?"

"Um...I'm Jazz. That's what people call me."

"Hello Jazz. I'm very pleased to meet you. I'd like to apologize for making you late for work. All of this is my fault. It's silly, actually. You see John and I had a fight. You know how couples are, and John has a bit of a hot head sometimes. He has to walk these things off. He's been gone now longer than normal, and so I asked for help finding him. I didn't mean for you to be inconvenienced. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have bothered you at all, except that I worry. He's never just ...walked off like this before.

"I know that you're probably sworn to secrecy, and I wouldn't want to make you have to betray a confidence, but I really need to know if John is alright. Please."

Jazz smiled back and squeezed Mary's hand. "Don't worry. He's coming back, soon. I'm sure that he wouldn't leave a woman such as yourself alone for long."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No. Honestly, I don't think they knew. Harr just said she'd call me when she got back in town. I'm sorry Mrs Watson. I can't help you."

"Oh, that's alright. You've set my mind at ease. Thank you. I apologize again for calling you away from work."

"That's fine. That old bat can see what it's like to do a few things herself for once."

"Even so, let me make amends. Inspector, do you think that you can get someone to take Jazz to work, perhaps by way of her house so that she has a chance to change out of that itchy sweater."

Lestrade jumped, "Right!" he said rising to his feet. He nodded at the mirror. A few seconds later the door opened and an officer escorted Jazz out of the room. Lestrade caught the officer's arm and said in a low voice, "Get her a bite to eat as well, will you? I'll owe you."

Sherlock had turned his entire torso toward Mary. "Impressive," he said. "John is good at calming people, but I think that you're even better at it. I saw a snake tamer once. She could calm a snake with eye contact and the motion of her head. You seem to be able to do it with a touch. You turned her right around within three seconds."

"No. She simply recognized my sincerity. She understood what I was feeling. I didn't trick her."

"Ha!"

Lestrade, who had been standing in the open door, leaned into the room and asked. "Either of you fancy a coffee?"

Sherlock shook his head, but Mary said, "I would love a coffee, thank you."

The door closed with a click and Mary turned to see Sherlock's eyes watching her intently.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"You like coffee."

"Yes."

"Why don't you ever make coffee? When you stayed over at my flat, you didn't make coffee. I thought perhaps you didn't like instant, or you were afraid that I had poisoned it, a not unreasonable thing to do in the house of one's enemy. But this morning you also didn't make coffee even though you had time to start it brewing before you showered. In fact, I can't ever remember seeing you make coffee even though you like it. You don't seem to have a problem with cooking other things. John is very complementary of your cooking which seems to cover a wide range of cuisines except, as I have mentioned, coffee. Why is that?"

Mary glanced at her fingertips saying nothing. Sherlock smirked as if he had just found the key to an interesting puzzle, when he was interrupted by a beep from his phone. He read.

**[I recommend that you not pursue this line of reasoning.] **

Sherlock frowned. Then he texted back rapidly, **[Piss off, Mycroft] .**

He put the phone in his pocket and rose to his feet.

"I suggest that we continue our conversation someplace else. This room has a bug infestation."

Sherlock rapped on the door and they walked out and down the hall. Lestrade met them there, two coffee cups in his hand. "Sherlock, where are you going?"

"To pursue the lead that we were given."

"What lead?"

"This Jazz, what is her real name?"

"Jacqueline Taylor."

"She told us that John has left London. He didn't take his passport, so he hasn't left the country. She also said that Harriet Watson was going to contact her. How? By phone most likely? I have already traced her phone and John's and they are both in London, so how is she planning to contact Jazz? Would it not be logical for her to have exchanged phones with her? I need to hack into Jazz Taylor's mobile phone. We haven't a moment to lose. Come along, Mary."

Sherlock swept out of the building. Mary took a few sips of the coffee and then handed it back to Lestrade with a thank you, before following Sherlock.


	8. The Father Christmas Murder

When they arrived at 221B, Sherlock strode up the stairs and went straight to his computer. Mary followed at a much slower pace. She stood in the center of the room silent for a moment, then she said. "If you don't mind, I'm going upstairs to have a bit of a lie down."

Sherlock said nothing.

Mrs Hudson turned and watched as she walked up the stairs.

"What is it Mrs Hudson. You've obviously got something on your mind."

"I'm worried about you Sherlock. You're working yourself too hard. And so soon after your accident. You'll do yourself an injury, working all night without sleep."

"Don't worry about that. I slept last night. Too long in fact. I hadn't planned to spend so much time in bed. It must be the illness slowing me down."

"But Sherlock? I listened for you, but you didn't come back all night."

"I slept at Mrs Watson's flat."

"Sherlock!"

"Now if you would be so kind as to leave me alone, I'll be getting on with my work."

Mrs Hudson hmphed and marched off down the stairs.

A few hours later, Mary marched down the stairs. Despite having slept, her eyes were red. She put on the kettle, then she walked into the living room and sat in John's chair. "Any luck?"

"Yes, they've gone to Portsmouth. A number of calls were placed from there last night."

"Portsmouth? But that's where the medical conference is. We had already paid for the reservation and were planning to visit the Christmas market afterwards, but when you were injured, John canceled it. I thought that you said that he wouldn't go where we would expect him to be."

"He must have guessed that I would assume that and so went anyway."

"So John outsmarted Sherlock Holmes?"

"Of course not. I just ... haven't fully recovered from my injuries yet."

"Oh yes, of course," Mary said smiling. "I can call the hotel. See if there in."

"No, you'll tip them off. Best we go see for ourselves."

The kettle whistled then, and she rose to make the tea. She pulled out two cups. "So, how are we going to get to Portsmouth. We're not taking a taxi. You spend too much on taxis as it is. Not to mention a taxi driver tried to kill you once."

"That was different...I would have..." A beep from his phone interrupted. "What is it, Lestrade?"

"Sherlock, I need your help. Department store murder."

"I told you, I was on a case."

"Please. I will only take a moment. Will you come?

"All right. Be there momentarily." He put the phone on the table, closed the laptop and rose to his feet. "Care to accompany me again, Mrs Watson?"

"But I just made tea."

"The humble tea leaf is many things, but thankfully, it is not rare. You can make more later."

"I'll just put it in the fridge. We can drink iced tea later."

Sherlock made an expression of distaste as he reached for his scarf, "Iced tea? An abomination!"

He swept on his coat and marched down the stairs. Mary followed a few minutes behind.

* * *

When they arrived at the department store, they had to push their way through a host of children and their parents to get to the officer who awaited them. Lestrade met them in a hallway.

"Lestrade, why is this place overrun with children?"

"They're waiting."

"Waiting, for what?"

Lestrade opened the door to a small room. On the floor, lying on his back with his arms outstretched, was Father Christmas all dressed in green. Mary covered her mouth.

"The manager found him an hour ago. He was supposed to be out in the store greeting the children."

Sherlock pulled on a pair of gloves and bent down to examine the man. "Cause of death?"

"I don't know. That's why we called you in."

"You need John," Mary said attracting a glance from Lestrade who hadn't noticed her until then.

Sherlock ignored her. He lifted the man's white beard and looked at his throat. Then he flurried around him, smelling his breath and examining his fingernails.

The manager poked his head in then. He was wearing a bright red Christmas cap and a worried expression. How long will this be? The families are getting restless. I've called in our back up, but we'll need to get that spare costume over there ..."

"Don't touch anything!" Sherlock said as he examined the soles of the Father Christmas' feet.

"But if someone doesn't go out there soon..."

"Don't worry. I'll help," Mary said placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him from the room. "Just give me that hat."

Sherlock went to the table and sniffed at the food there. There was a half eaten piece of fruitcake on a plate. He lifted the box that the cake had come from read the contents."

"What is it, Sherlock. I know that you've found something."

"It wasn't murder."

"All right then what did kill him?"

"Allergies."

"Allergies?"

"This man has a severe food allergy. He wears a band on his wrist. See." Sherlock pointed at the silver bracelet just visible below the furred sleeve of his cloak." He is usually very careful about what he eats, but I suppose that he was tempted by this cake and decided to take a taste. Unfortunately, it contained nuts and he died of anaphylaxis. The signs are clearly there. Swelling in his face and throat, pale skin and fingernails. He was reaching for that bag when he fell. You can see that it has been spilled across the floor, and if we look inside..."

Sherlock bent down and pulled out an epipen. "He kept this nearby in case of an attack. Unfortunately, he did not reach it in time, and the constriction in his throat kept him from calling out."

The manager came back then. "Are you done yet? The replacement is here and he needs that suit that is hanging up. Can I take it now?"

Lestrade looked around once more and then raised his hands. Go ahead. We've already taken pictures. We'll have the body out of here soon. He'll need to be taken to the morgue to confirm the diagnosis, but it looks like an accident."

"Make sure that they take him through the back door. We can't have the children seeing a dead Father Christmas. Sales would plummet!"

"Heaven forbid."

The manager entered the room skirting carefully around the dead body as he took the spare costume from the rack. He left just as carefully and then rushed away.

Sherlock rose to his feet. "Why did you call me in, Lestrade? This was a simple accident. It may have taken a few more hours to resolve, but even your people would have figured it out eventually. Why so urgent?"

Lestrade wiped his mouth guiltily. "Actually, I was being a bit selfish today, but after this morning I felt that you owed me something. Especially after brushing off that double murder."

"Oh yes, what happened with that one?"

"The wife did it."

"Boring, so what do you want?"

"I want you to help me finish this case. Just stay with me until the paperwork is through. I want it done by five with no slip ups and no complications."

"You never had any difficulty doing your paperwork without me before. Why now?"

"Because you, Sherlock, are like a magic charm. Good luck, bad luck, I can't tell, but after the incident, no one else at the yard will come near you, and that's what I need today, no interruptions. Today is my last day before I go on holiday. I've missed the last three ones because of last minute cases, and I wanted to make sure that I got out this time. I just need to put the paperwork through on this one, and I'll be off to visit the kids."

"I don't have time for this, I need to go to Portsmouth to get John," Sherlock said stripping off his gloves and tossing them into the waste bin as he passed.

"You found him?"

"I have a lead, and I want to get there before he's gone."

"Look, it's only a few hours drive by car. If you come with me to the station while I finish this up, then I'll drive you to Portsmouth myself."

They turned then at the sound of a loud cheer. The noise of children milling and crying had changed to small voices singing. Sherlock strode toward the sound, past Lestrade, and out into the store front.

The children were clustered around the stage. Mary was leading them in what sounded like Jingle Bells except the children where hopping around like kangaroos and Santa was supposedly driving a rusty old truck through the bush. The song ended to a sea of clapping just as Father Christmas stepped out from behind the curtain.

The children rushed past Mary who turned and smiled when saw them on the edge of the crowd. She took off the hat and placed it on the head of a small boy before she jumped down and pushed her way to them.

"We're off to the station if you'd like to accompany us," Lestrade said. "You certainly do have a way with children, Mrs Watson."

Mary smiled, "Thank you, Greg. It is my job you know." She followed him out to his cruiser with Sherlock following behind. He didn't speak in the car, but he stared at Mary, a thoughtful expression on his face. When they arrived at the station. Mary tried to open the door only to find that there was no door handle.

"How do we get out?"

"Police car. They have to let you out. That's why I don't usually ride with Lestrade. I don't like being caged."

The door opened then and Mary climbed out. Sherlock slid over and exited the same way.

Eyes turned toward them as they walked through Scotland Yard. It seemed that everyone knew Sherlock Holmes. Some of the faces were filled with awe. Some with distrust. Only one was filled with hate. A curly haired black woman who was waiting outside of Lestrade's door. She stared at Sherlock Holmes with open hostility. Sherlock's lips smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Ah Sergent Donovan, I thought that you had transferred away from here."

"It's inspector Donovan, and I have. I'm just here for a case. Greg, I'd like to speak to you."

"Just a moment," he said holding up one hand as he rushed into his office closing the door behind him.

"So, you're still sticking your nose into Scotland Yard's cases. I though that we had rid ourselves of you once and for all. I should have known that you would have kept your claws in Greg. He always did have a soft spot for you. Don't know why, you Freak!"

"Ah Sally, still as charming as ever. Then again I should have expected you to be a bit peevish now that Anderson has reconciled with his wife. One night stands not satisfying you anymore? Last night was particularly bad. You got him off, but he didn't bother to stick around for you. Better luck next time."

"Now I don't know how you know that, freak, but I still don't trust you. And you had better stay away from Greg if you know what's good for you."

Sherlock looked her up and down once and then said in a quiet voice that was almost sad, "He won't you know. Lestrade will never see you that way."

"What way?" Then her scowl turned fierce, "Listen you crazy, psychopathic Freak! You had better shut that mouth of yours if you don't want to see this shoe shoved down it." Sally was distracted then by a touch on her sleeve. She looked down at the small blond woman who she hadn't even noticed until then. "What!"

"Did you say that your name was Sally Donovan?" Mary asked demurely. She stood quietly looking up at the tall detective, her dark blond braid wrapped tight around her head, her modest clothes making her look small and ordinary.

"Yes."

"Inspector Sally Donovan?"

"Yes, that's me. Have we met before?"

"No," Mary said, "but I have heard a lot about you, and I'd like to inform you that I'm going to be filing a complaint on your conduct as soon as the holidays are over."

"What? Who are you?"

"My name is Mary Watson, and I have been standing here watching you since Mr Holmes arrived. In that time you have three times referred to him using a derogatory name and have threatened him with physical violence. Is this conduct befitting an officer of the Crown? Especially for someone who is consulting on this case out of the goodness of his heart without expectation of remuneration of any kind? You should be thanking him not insulting him.

"And even if he were a criminal, and not someone on the side of the law, there is no excuse for such language. It's not acceptable for someone in your position and you should be ashamed of yourself. I can't believe that you were taught this kind of behavior. If I could, I'd like a have a word with your teachers, but as I don't know their number, I'll simply lodge a formal complaint. However, if I ever hear that you've said another insulting thing to Mr Holmes here, even a whisper, then I will find your parent's number and give them a piece of my mind. Don't think that I can't. I've been a teacher for several years now, and we have our ways."

Sally Donovan looked stunned. She stared down at the woman with wide eyes, then she turned and left without another word. When she had gone, Sherlock burst out laughing. The door opened then, and Lestrade stuck his head out. "What happened? Did you drive her away Sherlock?" Sherlock started to laugh again. Lestrade reached in and picked up a bag, then he closed and locked his door.

"We're almost there. I just need to drop off this paper, and we are done."

Lestrade dropped off his paper and they cleared the building.

After gathering their luggage from 221B Sherlock suggested that he drop them off at Mary's flat for a few hours since Lestrade obviously needed to change before the trip, and they had things to gather, such as medicines, and John's phone. Lestrade agreed, saying that he would be back to pick them up at six. After they entered Mary's flat, Sherlock plopped down on the couch, and closed his eyes. Mary took her overnight bag into her bedroom, so that she could repack it. When the door was closed, Sherlock carefully rose and walked over to the closet. He took down John's bag and removed the morphene, fresh syringes, and needles. He placed then into his spare shoes, and then stuffed a rolled up pair of socks over them before hiding them in his luggage. His eyes were closed again before Mary came out of the room and went to the bathroom to shower and change for the trip.


	9. A night in Portsmouth

Lestrade was particularly testy after two hours in a car with Sherlock who quickly found his _Buck's Fizz _disk and spent the entire time making insulting quips about his taste in music. Insults that only increased when Mary insisted that they listen to the entire album as she had never heard them before.

He sighed in relief when they entered the brightly decorated hotel which was hosting the last day of a medical conference. Sherlock asked them to wait while he walked up to the desk and asked to leave a message for Dr. John Watson. He returned a few minutes later and led them up the elevator to room 307 which he opened with a card.

"Where did you get that card?" Lestrade asked.

"From the pocket of the concierge when he bumped into me. Come on." They turned on the light and looked around the room.

"Sherlock, do we even know if this is John Watson's room we are trespassing in?"

"Oh its his room alright. Look at the way that bed is made. Military corners."

"John makes his bed when he's in a hotel?"

"Yes," Mary said. " _'Old habit's die hard.'_ That's what my dad always said." She opened the closet. "There's no luggage."

"Of course not, when did he have time to pack? He walked out with only the clothes that he had on."

"Then he would have had to buy new clothes. The blokes down here don't seem the type to go around in jeans and a t-shirt."

"And here is more proof," Sherlock said lifting a tea bag out of the trash.

"It's tea, Sherlock. How does that prove anythin'? Who doesn't drink tea?"

"John's favorite brand?" Sherlock said raising an eyebrow.

"The hotel probably has it in all of the rooms."

"No, Sherlock is right." Mary said moving their bags to the far side of the door out of sight. "That's the kind of tea John likes. He says that hotel tea doesn't agree with him, so he always brings his own tea bags with him on trips."

"Alright, so John was here. What do we do now? Look through the conference for him."

"The simplest strategy would be to wait for him here," Sherlock said.

"You can't just wait in someone else's room."

"My husband's room," Mary said. "I don't know about you, but I could use a nap after everything we've gone through today. So if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit." Mary kicked off her shoes and pulled open one side of John's bed before climbing in and turning away from them."

"Excellent idea Mrs Watson." Sherlock said jumping on to the other bed and crossing his ankles as he lay back, hands under his head.

Lestrade stared at Sherlock with his mouth hanging open. "Are you just going to lie there?"

"The room is already paid for. When they come back, we'll have found them. Very clever of John staying here. It would have been a way to have a place to stay without any new charges going on his accounts. As long as he didn't charge any new fees like room service, no one but the hotel staff would know that he had been here. And even if he didn't return the keycard, these hotels re-key the room with each new guest. I'm impressed. I'll tell him so when he arrives."

"Sherlock, you aren't going to sleep here?"

"John is a man of regular habits. He likes to sleep in the evenings. If he is still at the conference somewhere, he will come back to this room. If he does not, he will find somewhere else to stay. Either way there is nothing to do until morning."

"But Sherlock!"

"I'm sorry, Lestrade. There are only two beds. You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep. And make sure that they don't see you leave the building." Sherlock reached out then, and turned off the desk lamp. Lestrade shook his head then and left closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

In the dark of the evening, Sherlock Holmes rose from his bed and walked over to his luggage which was still by the door. He carefully opened the zipper and took out his shoes before going into the bathroom.

He was shaking with the pain by then, pain that kept crowding out his thoughts. He knew that under normal circumstances he would have found John Watson by now, but his body was betraying him. It wasn't working the way it should, and despite his denials that the body was only transport, he realized that when the transport wasn't working, it was difficult for the brain to reach the correct destination.

He placed the brown leather oxfords on the counter and closed the bathroom door. Then he removed the rolled up pair of socks and pulled out what he had stashed there. He placed the bottle on the counter along with the syringe, the needle, and and elastic strap. Then he turned on the water and washed his face.

He had been beginning to gain back a bit of his weight when John had been there, but now he was getting thinner. His cheeks had a sunken look that showed he was still in poor health. When had he last eaten? He couldn't remember. John would have told him. John took care of him, or at least he had...before her.

A spasm of pain brought him back to himself. He reached down and picked up the bottle checking it for impurities. Then he removed the needle from the package, and screwed it on the syringe. Holding the bottle upside down, he stuck the needle in, carefully filling it. When the syringe was full, he placed the bottle on its side and balanced the syringe on top of it to keep the tip clean while he tied a strap around his left arm. Then he lifted the needle squeezing slightly so that a single drop of clear liquid came out. He stretched out his arm, and turned his head to search for his vein, only then noticing the shocked eyes of Mary Watson who stood with one hand on the door frame.


	10. The argument

For a moment, Sherlock and Mary simply stared at each other. Tiny little Mary whose brown-blond braid had slipped to trail down the center of her back, staring at the still form of Sherlock Holmes, his left arm bound with an elastic strap, a needle hovering over his vein. She walked into the room with loud footsteps, and slapped Sherlock's hand hard sending the syringe flying across the room to bounce against the mirror before clattering to the floor to end up flush against the white, tiled wall. Sherlock looked after it, wondering if the needle had been bent. He turned back to see Mary staring angrily at him, her fists balled at her side.

"You worthless piece of shit! What in God's name do you think that you are doing?"

She reached forward and undid the strap around his arm so that the blood rushed in painfully. He pulled away from her then, rubbing his arm. Mary read the label on the bottle before glaring back at Sherlock. "Is that why you wanted to come back to my flat, to steal this from John's bag?"

"I wasn't stealing."

"What else do you call taking something without permission? This is morphene! You used to be an addict! You can't take this, especially without supervision. What kind of a thoughtless drongo must you be to do this to yourself?"

"I calculated the dosage. The other medicine wasn't working for the pain."

"And so you decided to self-medicate. And when this bottle was gone, what then? You'd have to get more. Where would you steal _that_ from? Or would you just buy something illegally that would do the same thing? Heroin perhaps? Why would you do such at thing? I thought you loved John. Or was it that you want him to blame me for this? You want to make me look like a hateful person that would let the person he cares for die out of spite. Well I won't let you die like this, you selfish idiot. I won't let you kill yourself. I won't watch John stand over your grave a second time."

She bent down, picked up the syringe, and after bending the needle between her fingers, she pulled off the back of the syringe and poured the liquid down the drain turning the water on high to wash it all away. She picked up the pieces and the bottle of morphene and glared at Sherlock one more time before striding out of the room.

Sherlock stared into the mirror again, but his image quickly became obscured by the steam rising from the faucet, so he reached forward and turned it off. He straightened up then, rolling down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. Then he wiped the mirror with the back of his hand, checking his appearance before walking out into the room.

Mary was at the bedside table writing the name Dr. John Watson on an envelope. Then she slipped on her shoes and her coat and walked out of the room.

When she returned fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed. The golden glow of the bedside lamp lit his face from below making it look red and flushed. He looked up at her as she slowly closed the door and walked over to sit on John's bed across from him. There was a moment of quiet when they simply sat saying nothing, their thoughts too full. Then she rose to her feet and went into the bathroom returning in a few minutes with a glass of water that she set on the table beside him. She placed two of the pain pills into his hand and he took them. Then he looked up into her face.

"Mary, have you been taking care of me simply because you don't want to appear hateful? Because you want John to think that you are nice. That seems a bit extreme. Any wife would be justified in turning away her husband's lover. You knew, didn't you, that we were lovers?"

"Of course I knew. He was always attracted to you. I knew it before we were married, I knew it before you came back. I expected it even. John's sleeping with you never worried me."

"Why not? I asked John to come back and live with me. Didn't that concern you? John isn't here now. There's no need to pretend. I know that you hate me."

"I don't hate you! I am, however, not always happy with your choices."

"A very politic answer. So correct. Very much what a nanny should say. So then Mary, please enlighten me. What particular things don't you like about me? Trust me, I've heard it all before."

"I don't like how selfish you are. You don't care about John's feelings."

"I am selfish, I can't deny that, but you're wrong about John. I do care for him, more than for anyone else in the world."

"Except yourself."

"That's not true. I died to the world in order to protect him."

"Yes, and that's another reason I'm angry. John may have forgiven you for jumping off of that building, but I never have."

"Forgiven me? I had to do it, or John would be killed."

"John almost died anyway."

"I don't understand."

"No, you don't do you? You don't understand grief, how it changes a person. Do you think that the John that I married is the same one that existed before you did that stupid stunt on the roof? He's not. He had part of his heart torn out by what you did. You could have stopped that at anytime. You could have told him that you were alive, but it wasn't worth the effort. It wasn't worth your time."

"There were assassins trailing him. I couldn't reveal myself. I watched over him as best I could."

"Yes, he told me about that. How you trailed behind him in disguises. If I could ever hate you it would be because of that. Because you watched him crying at your grave and turned away."

"I did it for him."

Mary laughed bitterly. "Is that why you tried to take those drugs today, for him? Stop deluding yourself. You've only ever cared about yourself."

"You don't understand. I know what I'm doing. I took the morphine for the pain. Calculated out the correct dosage. The other medicine wasn't working."

"You didn't give it a chance."

"Oh yes I did, and it took away my mind. Do you have any idea what THAT feels like? For someone like me who lives by his brain to have it taken away? I won't risk it again. I need my brain. The rest is transport."

"You are such a child? You think yourself so hard to understand, but you wear your pain on your sleeve like a badge. Do you think that you were the only boy that was bullied? The only one who was hated because he was too smart or too talented? People hurt your feelings, so you push them away. You try to make yourself an island, a robot. Do you think that you were the first to invent such a solution to pain? I assure you that you are not. Everyone feels pain. Everyone gets hurt, but we don't all pretend that we are two different creatures, a mind and a body, because it doesn't work that way.

"You cut John off from you, like one cuts off a diseased arm. You said that you did it to save him, but you were only saving yourself. In the meantime, he was wasting away without you."

"I was protecting him!"

"You were hurting him. You left him behind because he was a weakness for you. He would get in the way of your great campaign to take down Moriarty's organization and get back your fame."

"How can you be so deluded? I missed John horribly. I wanted to come back to him, every day."

"But you didn't come back."

"If I had, they would have killed him."

"Was that better than the pain he suffered without you? I was here. I held his hand when he cried over your empty grave, and when you came back, I almost wanted to kill you myself for what you did to him."

"I knew that he might not take me back. I knew that he might hate me, but I had to do what I did to protect him and the other people that I cared for. It was only logical..."

"Sometimes _love isn't logical!_ Sometimes a person would rather die than spend another day alone!" Mary's high-pitched voice echoed off of the walls making the silence afterward seem even more profound, then tears streamed down her face like rivers. She covered her face with her hands and bent down so far that her hair rested on her knees.

Sherlock watched her curl into herself as she cried. He thought that he should do something to comfort her, but he didn't know what, so he simply sat and watched her cry until she rose and ran to the bathroom. Sherlock turned then, looking out of the window to see gray light spilling in through the thin white curtains. It was morning.


	11. Revelations

Mary came out of the bathroom some time later with her face dry, and her hair done up in a tight braid. She walked over to her suitcase and began unpacking clothes for the day. She laid them out on John's bed.

"Do you want the first shower?"

Sherlock shook his head, so she took her clothes and her purse into the bathroom. Sherlock took out his laptop and sat at the table. Mary came out, fully dressed toweling her long blond hair. She walked over to the table and looked over his shoulder at the screen.

"Have you found something?" she asked.

"Harry's storage account. Her phone company keeps space on the server for storing images. She's been taking pictures with Jazz's phone and sending them to this account."

"Pictures? If we could see them, we might be able to tell where they are now."

"My thoughts exactly."

"So where are they."

"I just need to guess her password. It's proving more difficult than I supposed."

"Have you tried 'Clara'?"

"Of course."

"Backward?"

"Obviously, as well as all of the anagrams. Carla, Larac and so on. I've gone on to numerical ones. I may need to write a program to crack it."

"Try 'Wile E. Coyote'."

"What?"

"W. I. L. E. yes, like that."

"It worked. How on Earth did you guess that?"

"It's what John used to call her as a child."

"But coyotes are indigenous to the North American continent. Why?"

"She used to love thecartoon. When they were kids she'd write Acme on all of their toys." Sherlock only narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you ever watch Road Runner cartoons as a child? What kind of a deprived childhood did you have?"

"My parents preferred books."

"I prefer books as well, but I'd still let my children watch cartoons."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Let's get back to business shall we."

He opened a picture showing John in the very hotel room that they were in. "As if we needed any more evidence that John was here. Perhaps this will keep Lestrade from pestering us about the room. I still think that he believes there was another tea drinking, veteran doctor in this hotel who is going to barge in on us, and ask why we have stolen his room."

"I've never seen that grey suit before."

"It doesn't suit him." Sherlock said.

"I think that it looks nice."

"John would look better in blue."

"I can see that," she agreed. "It would bring out the color in his eyes."

"I've offered to buy him clothes, but he always refuses."

"Send them to me. I'll say that I bought it."

"He'd know that it was from me."

Mary sighed, "I suppose so. All he has to do is read the price tag."

"I don't buy from stores that have '_price tags_'. " Sherlock said the last word as if it was extremely distasteful.

"I suppose you are right. Are there anymore pictures?"

"There's a video file here. Let's see what John has been doing."

The screen took a while to load, so Mary had time to sit down. This was good, because the image almost caused her to fall over in shock. John was sitting in a bar or a club. There was a woman in a bikini top and miniskirt on his lap, and he was kissing her. No, he was snogging her. Her long brown hair slid across her back as she turned her head from side to side. John's arms which had started in the middle of her back continued to drift downward until they rested on the her hips. The kiss went on for ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty. She pulled away revealing John's face, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure before the image cut off.

Neither of them moved for several minutes. The hum of the laptop fan was the only sound in the room. Mary sat with her hand over her mouth, and Sherlock was staring at the screen with an puzzled expression on his face, as if he had accidentally opened images from an alternate universe. The universe where John was actually considering leaving them both behind. Mary had proposed this back at Baker street, but Sherlock had not seriously considered this as a possibility before. Then again, why else would John be passionately kissing a stranger?

Mary rose and walked over to the bed to lie down. Sherlock turned to face her. "Ah!" he said.

Mary rolled back toward him. "What?" she asked. "Have you figured something out?"

"You suffer from depression. This is why you have been sleeping so much since John has left, but you have not appeared to be rested."

"Yes. I was diagnosed with depression."

"When?"

"About three years ago."

"You were married before. You still wear his ring below John's wedding ring. I noticed that they weren't the same color. An engagement ring would be, and they usually have a stone. Your first husband left you, but you still care for him."

"Yes, you could say he left me."

"So you married John on the rebound. You still love your first husband."

"Yes, I do still love him. I know now that I always will."

"This doesn't quite fit with your altruistic image, does it Mary, for you to be in love with someone else, but to insist that John stay with you anyway. Why did your husband leave you? Was it for someone like the woman that John was kissing?"

Mary rolled on her back and stared up at the ceiling.

"This has something to do with the coffee doesn't it?" Sherlock said. "Your husband, did he used to make you coffee?"

Mary smiled. "You're amazing, Mr Holmes, to deduce that. Yes, my former husband used to make me coffee every morning. He was passionate about it, but nowhere near as passionate as I was about him. I was very young when I married him. Straight out of school. He was so unlike John, tall and strong. He was also a clever man. Nowhere near as clever as you or course, or as learned as John, but he loved knowledge. He would tell me facts about neutron stars, or the mating habits of fish, or what the phases of the moon meant to medieval peasants. It was all interesting to him.

"Most people thought that he must have carried me off, a young girl fresh out of school with a such a big man, but it was the other way around. I knew that I wanted him from the first moment that I saw him standing outside the construction site. The other girls were rushing past to avoid being whistled at, but I turned and stared. I just stared at him. They tried to pull me away, but I wouldn't go. He looked so amazing, and his face. He was...well in school we would say, 'He was an Adonis'. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

"And then I married him. My father was so angry at first, but I changed his mind in the end. We moved to England. Brad had found a job that paid almost twice what we had been making back in Australia. We got a flat, and I was very, very happy. He made me coffee on the last morning that I saw him. Then he left, and never came back.

"The next morning, I tried to make coffee, but ... his fingerprints were still on the coffee maker. If I used it, I would wipe them off. I was afraid that I would wipe off all evidence that he had ever lived there, that he had ever wanted me. I wouldn't touch the coffee maker. Soon I was afraid to touch the refrigerator, or the water faucet. I was severely dehydrated when they found me lying on the floor of my flat. After some time in hospital, they sent me to a psychiatric ward to recover. It took a long time.

I was at a group recovery meeting when I met John. Some bright idea his therapist had that maybe John would do better in a group. He sat in that chair looking so uncomfortable, then he said '_I stare at the chair where my friend used to sit, and then I realize that he will never sit there again, and I wonder how I can last another day.' _At that moment, I knew that I had found someone who understood my pain. Our first date together was over coffee." Mary smiled.

"I see." Sherlock said, "So you and John, both victims of loss, came together because of a shared pain. You helped each other out. He made you coffee, and you sat in his chair. But then I returned, and John didn't need you anymore, but he wouldn't just abandon you. John is too compassionate for that." Sherlock rose to his feet then and smirked, "But this is rich. You criticized me for being 'selfish' but isn't that what you're doing. Taking advantage of John's compassion? Making him promise '_to take care of you for the rest of your days_.' You don't really love John. You're just using him to fight your depression while you wait for this Brad to come back to you."

Mary sat up in bed then, her long golden hair trailing unbound down her back. Her face was a mask of sadness with a hint of anger. "In this case, as in many things Mr Holmes, you are the exception. For the rest of the world, there is no coming back from death."

There was a knock at the door, and then Lestrade walked in. "Wake up you sleepy heads, I found a lead. John came late to the conference, and didn't stay for most of the activities. He did, however, go to the local medical school to participate in a talk with the students. If we hurry we can catch them before they leave class and ask them some questions."

"Good morning, Greg. I thought that you had left to spend Christmas with your children."

"Nah, They aren't expecting me for another two days. I didn't actually believe that I'd get out of Scotland Yard on time. I have you two to thank for that. I figure its the least that I can do to help you find John before Christmas. But you two are remarkably unexcited. What have you been doing all night?"

Sherlock and Mary looked at each other. "Nothing. Just as I thought," said Lestrade. "Come on, or we'll lose our lead."

Mary sat up then, and began to braid her long hair.


	12. Students

The lobby was huge. All white and glass with a giant silver Christmas tree next to the window decorated with balls of green and white and red. Students wearing blue and white rushed by. The woman behind the desk had brown curly hair and Christmas ball earrings. Lestrade leaned over the desk. "Excuse me miss, can you direct me to Dr Winston's classroom?"

The woman smiled and pushed a map over the desk to Lestrade. She looked up at him and smiled pushing a map toward him and tracing the route with her finger. "He's in room 3004 on the third floor. You use this lift here..."

Sherlock turned and strode across the lobby punching the lift door and passing inside without looking to see if anyone was following him. Mary rushed in behind him and held the door for Lestrade. He jogged toward them and then waved them away. "I forgot the map. Go on up. I'll follow you," he said before turning to walk back to the desk. Mary released the button, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh Please! Ever since the divorce, Lestrade has lost his focus. Why must people persist in these inane mating rituals? We're on a case!"

Mary stood quietly looking at the brushed metal wall of the lift. She turned toward Sherlock and said, "Did you forget that John had PTSD? Did it never occur to you what witnessing your death would do to him? Watching you die and not being able to do a thing to save you? Did you plan to break him? Have him subjected to more years of therapy and sleepless nights simply to give you a better cover story?"

Sherlock stared down into Mary's angry face. The door opened then and several blue clad nurses stared waiting for them to exit. Sherlock walked out and looked around at the room numbers before striding down the hall. Mary followed at a slower pace. She caught up to him outside the door. "You weren't thinking of John when you jumped. You were thinking of Moriarty and his men. It was them you were trying to impress. John was just an afterthought. He's always an afterthought with you. You hurt him again and again, and then you expect him to forgive you. You're impulsive. You jump, and you don't think about the people who will have to pick up the pieces. Intellectually you understand that people are hurt, but you don't bother to stop yourself from hurting them, and you never change. You never will change. You will always hurt John."

Sherlock turned away from her then and pushed his way into the room to see a group of about twenty students and their instructor. "May I help you?" the man asked.

Sherlock slouched a bit and tilted his head to the side as he grinned "Hello. Dr Winston is it? I'm Mr. Johnson. I was at the conference." He flashed a conference badge. "I wanted to come to your student talks, but I couldn't get away. You see I was hoping that some of the speakers would also talk at our school, but I wanted to see what they were like first. To know if they were a positive influence on the students and all that. I'd like to talk to your students for a moment about them? Ask a few questions? Do you mind?"

"Ah, well ...We've just finished, but if the students want to stay to talk to you, I don't mind. Lab won't start for another twenty minutes. Students, do you think you might spare a few moments to talk to Mr Jones here." The students shrugged and nodded. "Then I'll see you in the lab." He said gathering his bag and walking out of the door.

As soon as the man was gone, Sherlock plopped himself on the edge of the desk. "Alright, now that he's gone let me tell you why I'm really here. I'm from the 'Doctor's Humor' website have you heard of it?"

A few of the students turned toward him then, their eyes alight. "Oh, I'm always on your website. I loved the page on cranial nerves. 'Oh to touch and feel...' "  
"Charles! There's no need to get vulgar in the classroom."  
"Alright, but I love your site."  
"We love all of you too." Sherlock said. "Of course, we are always in search of new material. I heard that one of the lectures this year was a bit different. A bit more irreverent than what you usually have. What can you tell me about Dr John Watson?"

"Dr Watson?" A young man said surprised, "Oh,he was fab!"  
"You're not going to print anything bad about Dr. Watson are you?" a girl with glasses and a ponytail asked.  
"Why? What was he like?"  
"He was amazing." said a short man with black hair. "He comes in and says, _'Look, I don't have anything prepared because I didn't even expect to be here, but as I am here, I'm going to tell you a few things that I wished someone had told me when I was in school_.' Then he proceeds to tell us the most mind blowing stories about hospitals that he's been at and people he saved. He was better than all the rest of them put together."  
"And that story about saving the guy who was trapped under the jeep in Afghanistan... that was just incredible."  
"He talked to you about Afghanistan?" Mary asked.  
"Yeah, he said he missed it. He said except for the supply problems that people were straightforward there and you didn't have to deal with all of the stupid politics of the hospitals around here."

"Shut up Troy. Mr Johnson. I don't think that he didn't mean to insult anyone. Are you planning on printing something bad about him, because I don't think that we can help you if that's the case."  
"No, no, I don't want to hurt him. I was hoping to talk to him. Maybe convince him to come on staff."

The students smiled then and the mood in the room lightened. "Well in that case, what do you want to know?" The woman asked.  
"First of all, do you know where he is?"  
"He was staying in the hotel where they had the conference. That's where we picked him up," Troy said.  
"Picked him up?"  
"Yeah, a group of us were assigned to shepherd each of the speakers. He was surprised to see us. He had totally forgotten about the talk. His suit was at the cleaners. He gave his talk in jeans and a jacket. You should have seen the look that Dr Wilson gave him when he arrived."

"I thought he looked honest," the young woman said, "That other lecturer was dressed like an undertaker."  
"Did you take him back to the hotel afterward or somewhere else."  
"Most of the lectures went right back to the hotel after they talked, but he stayed the day. He was the only one who came for dinner. We took him out. Him and his sister. She brought his suit, but by that time he didn't need it. He told us even better stories after he had a few drinks in him. Then we took him to this place we know."

The girl crossed her arms disapproving. "You shouldn't have taken him there. He was with his sister for goodness sake. We were supposed to give him a good impression of the school."  
"Oh I think he got a good impression, and he said that his sister wouldn't mind because she was gay."  
"Troy!"  
"What? If it didn't bother him to say it why should it bother me to repeat it."  
"Can you take me to this ...bar you went to? Can you take me now?"  
"I'm sorry, but we have lab in fifteen minutes. I can give you the address though."

When Lestrade finally arrived, Sherlock and Mary were leaving along with the rest of the students. Sherlock passed him the address. "John was last seen here."  
"That was quick work."  
"Not as quick as yours. Did you get her number?"  
"I..uh."  
"Oh please Lestrade, I know the signs. I used to live with John. Apologies Mary."  
Mary sighed and walked toward the lift. Lestrade followed, and Sherlock came behind.


	13. The detective and the dirty dancers

The bar was closed when they arrived.

"Follow me," Mary said and she walked around to the side door. She knocked and a woman with long red hair answered. She looked at the three of them, and then she looked down the street. Pop music spilled out of the warm room behind her. There was a little blond boy of about three or four peeking out around her legs.

"Um... I'm sorry but the manager won't be here for an hour, so if you have business you'll have to come back. "

"Oh what an adorable little boy," Mary said.

The boy pulled on his mother's skirt. He had a plastic truck in his hand. "Mommy, can I play on the stage again."

"Be Quiet, Scott."

Mary squatted down on her heels. "Oh, Scott is your name is it? Nice to meet you Scott. My name is Mary" The boy looked at her and then hid behind his mother's skirt.

"Like I said before, the manager..."

"We're not here for the manager. We came to talk to one of the dancers." Sherlock said.

"Mama! Can I ?"

Mary reached out then. "Nice truck you have there, can I play with it?"

The boy looked up at his mother and then handed Mary the truck. She ran it through the air and went _"Vroom, vroom_."

The woman looked down at them and then said, "Come in. There's a draught."

Mary rose to her feet and reached out. Little Scott took her hand and they walked in together. Lestrade and Sherlock followed. The woman closed the door.

"Now, what is it you want?" she said with her arms folded.

"Scott wants to show me the stage. Is that alright?"

The woman stared at her for a moment and then nodded. The little boy smiled and ran off with Mary behind him holding the toy truck.

Sherlock stared around the room taking it all in. He walked into the dressing area. There were costumes hanging from hooks and a mirrored wall with make up tables in front of them. He walked over to one and looked at a set of photographs stuck to the mirror. He touched one with his finger. "Can you tell me about this woman. She sits here doesn't she?"

The redhead looked at the two men with suspicion. "Look, this is a shared dressing room. We all sit everywhere. Who are you and what do you want?"

Sherlock turned to Lestrade who sighed and then pulled out his badge. The woman read it and then stood straighter. "What is it? Is Phoebe in trouble? Listen, she's a good girl really. A good dancer. She wouldn't get involved in anything bad."

"Phoebe did you say? Wait, I remember a Phoebe...what is her full name?"

"Phoebe Banks."

Sherlock smiled. "We've met her before, Lestrade."

Lestrade looked at the photograph of a tall thin brunette in a very small bikini. "I think that I'd have remembered meeting her," he said.

"Obviously not. Phoebe Banks was going to be the last victim of the Bluebeard killer. You remember, the yacht. He set in on fire."

"Oh that case. You and John jumped onto a burning boat like the idiots that you are. You should have waited for the fire department to get there."

"The evidence was on board. And I believe it was John who carried Phoebe Banks off of the burning boat to safety. I understand now. It all makes sense."

"What makes sense?"

"Why she would kiss him."

"Kiss who? Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

The door opened then and two women walked in including Phoebe Banks. The redheaded woman stopped her and whispered, "Phoebe, this man is from the police."

Phoebe breathed in a sigh and then she walked toward them smiling. "Sherlock Holmes. So glad to meet you again. You probably don't remember me."

"Phoebe Banks. Your last boyfriend got life imprisonment. I hope that you are doing better now, but then, I see that you are a student now. Nursing is it? Perhaps you were inspired by the example of John Watson. Where is he by the way?"

Phoebe bit her lip and then reached out for Sherlock's hand, but he held both of his gloved hands folded behind his back. She dropped hers. "Thank you for finding me Mr Holmes. You and John Watson saved my life."

Sherlock waved the praise away. "It was nothing to do with you. It was Nicholas Parker that I was after. You should thank John, but then again, I suppose that you already did."

Mary walked in holding the hand of the little boy. She froze when she saw the woman whom she recognized despite the fact that she was completely dressed this time.

"Mary, meet Phoebe Banks. John saved her life."

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and then Phoebe's walked over and took Mary's hand. She looked at her finger and then smiled. "I knew it. You're Mrs Watson aren't you. Harry told me that John was married. You are a lucky woman."

The boy pulled out of Mary's hand then. "I'm going to find Mommy," he said before running off.

Lestrade looked at women and then at Sherlock before walking over to Mary. He took her by the shoulders. "Mary, come and sit down. Miss Banks, do you have a minute to talk to us about John Watson?"

"Sure."

In the other room the music blared as the dancers set up the stage. The four of them sat in the corner next to a row of costumes. Lestrade pushed away a feather boa that tickled his neck. "Please Miss Banks," he said. "Tell us about when you last saw John Watson."

"Why, has he been hurt?" she asked concerned.

"No, not as far as we know," Mary said. "We've just...lost track of him. I want to find him."

Phoebe looked puzzled. Well, he seemed fine when I saw him this morning.

"He was here last night?"

"Yes. He stayed at my place."

Sherlock's face was a mask. Mary looked stricken. Phoebe looked at her and then shook her head. "Oh no, not like that. Not that I'd have minded to be honest. I just bumped into him after I got off work and he asked if I knew of a cheap place to stay, so I suggested my place. He was a perfect gentleman."

Sherlock rose to his feet. "Where is he now?"

"Well, I don't know. At breakfast he met some men in uniform. He said that they were old Army friends of his. They drove off together."

"Drove off where?"

"I don't know. One of them mentioned going back to the base."

Mary folded her hands and sat back. Sherlock wrinkled his brow. "Do you remember what kind of vehicle it was? Did you get the registration number?"

Phoebe shook her head. There was the sound of yelling, and Little Scott ran into the room. He hugged Mary's knees. He was followed by his mother who stood in front of him arms outstretched. A short man in a black checkered coat came in then, "I told you. No kids! This is an adults only establishment."

"I'll keep him back stage. No one will see him."

"No they won't because you're fired."

"But I need this job," she said leaning toward him. He raised his hand to her but another hand caught his wrist before it struck. He turned to see Sherlock's stern face looking down on him.

"Please refrain from attempting to strike this woman."

The man turned toward Sherlock and then back to the woman. "Who are these people?"

"People who it would be in your best interest not to cross," Sherlock said.

The man pulled his hand out of Sherlock's grasp. "Get out, get out all of you! And you too Janet. I want you out of here in two minutes or I'm calling the police on you."

"I think that very unlikely," Sherlock said. "Because if the police were to come, I would show them the twenty-nine violations of Environmental Health Licensing Regulations that I've noticed since walking into this place. I could also tell them about your attempted assault of one of your workers, and your ignoring of required workplace regulations about proper notice, but you've found ways around the law before. The owner is well connected, and this place makes money for him. You have good dancers, and a good location - near enough the docks to get the working class, but close enough to the city to get the occasional big spenders. - You take in quite a lot of money here, don't you? Quite a lot, but you don't share it with the dancers. They barely get enough to feed themselves which suits you because it keeps them thin. But what you don't tell anyone is that you keep some of the profits for yourself. Profits that should be going to the owner. He might think differently about protecting you from these pesky regulations if he found out how often you raid the till."

"Hey, what are you talking about? Are you trying to threaten me?"

"No, I am succeeding at threatening you."

"What.. you don't know anything. You don't have evidence of anything."

"That's a pretty fancy watch you have there, and a pretty fancy pair of shoes. If it wasn't for your appalling lack of style, you might be able to pull off the look, but you fail at that just as you fail at effective management."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I have faced far worse than a two-bit hustler like you. I've faced worse than the part-time criminal who owns this bar and half of the similar businesses in this city. I know what he will do when I tell him that you are stealing from him, and I have a pretty good idea where I would find your body afterwards, so I suggest that if you want to live to see New Year's day, you will do what I say."

The man stared up at him, his eyes frozen with fear. "What ...what do you want me to do?"

"You will rehire Janet here and make her your assistant manager. You will pay her a sufficient wage to afford daycare, and give all of your workers a raise and a Christmas bonus while you're at it, then get someone working on those licensing violations before the year is out, or someone other than Father Christmas will come knocking at your door. Do you understand me?"

Sherlock leaned over the man who leaned back. "Janet, the kid can stay... and see me later about that new job." Then the man in the checkered coat turned and fled.

Phoebe ran over to Janet and held her hands before jumping up and down. The other girls came in then, and Phoebe started explaining what had happened. Everyone shrieked. Sherlock walked back to the corner wincing. Lestrade was staring at him with an amused look on his face. He turned as he felt Mary touch his arm. "That was a very nice thing that you did for them," she said.

"I didn't do it for them. I dislike small-minded people. He interrupted a very important interrogation. I suppose that they'll be at this for hours now. The trail will be cold again before they calm down enough to make coherent conversation."

Janet walked out followed by the other girls. Sherlock sighed heavily and sat down looking bored. When they returned, Janet was smiling. " He made me assistant manager, but he said that I better make sure that everything from now on goes off without a hitch, so hurry up and get dressed for the show!"

The girls rushed into the room, and started removing their clothes. Sherlock rose to his feet, and quickly strode out from the room. Lestrade followed at a more leisurely pace. Mary bent down and picked up Scott before following them out.


	14. Unanswered questions

They showed Sherlock to a row of chairs on the side of the stage. Mary sat beside him with Scott on his lap. A bartender in a blue shirt rushed over to them and shook Sherlock's hand. It was as if a flood gate had been released. All of the workers crowded him thanking him and shaking his hand before rushing off to get ready for the bar's opening. Janet came next, forcing a kiss on his forehead. Phoebe followed suit. Sherlock batted them away, much like a child will bat away an elderly aunt who tries to pinch them.

Janet smiled, as she handed a clipboard to Sherlock. "I would appreciate it if you could write down the problems that you mentioned. I'd like to get them fixed before he changes his mind."

"If he looks like he's wavering, just give me a call," Lestrade said handing her a card. Janet put it in her pocket and nodded. "Would you like to go out front and see the show. Free drinks for all of you. The good stuff, not the watered down versions."

"I think that I'd like that," Lestrade said.

"I'm going to stay here and watch Scott," Mary said.

The loud music started up again and everyone was suddenly very busy. Mary walked down the hall and into a small lunch room. There was a rug, a space heater, and a small television. She turned on a children's show and sat down beside the boy who ran his truck across the rug. Sherlock sat beside her. "Mary, are you relieved or upset to find that John knew the woman that he was kissing?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm relieved. It may have been a bit provocative for John to kiss her like that, but so far I haven't seen him do anything that isn't..."

"That isn't what?"

"That isn't ... John. I was afraid that he might feel that he needed to change himself into something, someone else I was afraid that he was hurt by what we had done. By what we were doing to him."

"What were we doing to him?"

"Making him choose."

"Isn't that what you want? For him to choose you or me?"

"I thought that was what you wanted," Mary said. Sherlock turned away.

"I know why you want him. He helps you with your work. I know that he's important to you. I know that you care about him...in your way, and he loves working with you. He loves you, in fact, and that's important to me. I'm happy for him. Happy that he got you back. That he can work with you again, but you can't erase what you've done in the past. You aren't the man for him. You never were."

"I am. John Watson is the only man that I have ever loved. He is first in my heart, but only second in yours. Doesn't that give me the right to have him?"

"John doesn't belong to either of us."

"You have a ring on your finger that says otherwise."

"You know as well as I that a ring is just a piece of metal. Marriages are broken everyday. Perhaps John plans to break his. Perhaps he plans to reenlist."

"Reenlist? Why do you think that?"

"The way that he drove off to the base with those old army friends. Did John ever talk about the army to you? He almost never did with me. He seemed to hold it as a forbidden dream something that he both feared and desired. But the medical students said that he told them about the war. He's looking back at that time with fondness. I think that he wants to go back. I think that for him that might have been a simpler time. A better time. He hates politics. He hates being in the middle of such things. We are forcing him into an intolerable situation. He's trying to escape. What better way than to go back to a war where we can't follow."

"That's ridiculous. John is too old to enlist."

"He could go back as an advisor or a specialist. He's mentioned it before."

"He has?"

"Yes, when you were gone he was seriously considering it."

"No. He couldn't go back. Even if he tried, Mycroft would stop him."

"How could he stop John from going to Afghanistan?"

Sherlock simply glared at her.

"Ah." Mary said, "The two of you are a formidable pair."

"We are not a pair."

Mary smiled.

"What is it?"

"You. Honestly, you act like a child. He's your brother."

"Siblings are accidents of birth. You are an only child, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you won't understand."

"I suppose not, but I'd like to understand you better."

"Why? To make it easier to win against me?"

"What would you say if I said yes?"

"I'd say that you are an honest woman."

Mary laughed. "My aunt said that she was glad that John was going to 'make an honest woman out of me'. What would she think if I said that Sherlock Holmes agreed with her?"

The boy came over then and smiled at her, "What's funny?" he asked.

Mary bent over and pushed the boy's nose. "You are," she said. "We should see if there is anything in that refrigerator to eat." She rose to her feet and walked away with the boy.

Sherlock pulled out his phone, and checked for pictures, but there were no more leads. No convenient photos of car registration numbers. He frowned. The ache in his chest was growing. It felt itchy. He wanted another shot of morphene, but Mary was right, it had been risky taking it. It felt too familiar, too seductive. He hadn't had enough yet to get physically dependent, but he was already psychologically craving it.

Sherlock rose and walked into the bar. There were already a few people here now: A longshoreman, a fisherman left behind due to a bad leg injury, a couple of underage students here on a dare. He sat at Lestrade's table and turned to see a woman, - blond hair, Veronica was it? - undulating around a pole. She was wearing green tinsel. The bartender placed a drink in front of Sherlock. He looked at it suspiciously, then he downed the entire drink in one go.

"Sherlock. I didn't think you were a drinking man."

"Alcohol is an easily accessible pain killer."

"So, are you going to tell me what you and Mary are on about? You must have done something to drive John away. What was it? Mrs Hudson thinks that you two are having an affair, but I told her that nothing was going on. What is going on, Sherlock? Whenever I walk in on the two of you, the silence grows about a thousand times deeper. And what is this about John kissing Phoebe? First he kisses Molly in that party, and I know that there is absolutely nothing between the two of them. Did you insult him, Sherlock? Imply that he couldn't pull women anymore. Do something that would make him feel like he had to leave, because if this is the consequence, I don't think that I need to be the one to tell you that that was stupid. So talk."

Sherlock rose to his feet. "We're losing time. I need to find John." He strode off backstage. Lestrade finished off his Ginger beer and followed him.


	15. Stalled

They followed Janet's sister to the small pub where John had met with the soldiers. Mary hugged Scott goodbye and then Joined Lestrade and Sherlock at a table.  
"So what do we do now?" Lestrade asked.  
"We could interview the staff, but they may not be the same ones who were here this morning."  
Mary stared at the menu. "He will have ordered the full English breakfast with a coffee."  
"Which is totally irrelevant if we continues to pay in cash." Sherlock said pulling out his phone. He clicked on the button and then sat up tall. "Finally, a lead!"  
"What?"  
"Harry Watson made a purchase on her card."  
"Where?" Lestrade asked.  
"Cosham. Come now the race is on."

Ten minutes later...  
"Why on Earth are you stopping, Lestrade! They're in our grasp."  
"The car won't run without petrol. Besides, that purchase was made six hours ago, and this will only take a few minutes." Lestrade walked into station.  
"I think...I'm not sure, but I think that there may be a military hospital in Cosham. I remember John saying so."  
"Then why didn't you mention it before? We could have gone there hours ago instead of wasting time in that bar."  
"I didn't think it was important."  
"You didn't think that it was important? Why do you think we're here? To sightsee? I'll ask Lestrade to make a few laps around Spinnaker tower, shall I?"  
"Don't act like ..."  
"A child? If anyone is acting like a child here, it is you."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Your entire relationship with John is childish. It is simply you, desperately seeking the approval of an absent father. Even your first husband, how did you describe him, tall, strong, clever. Are these not how a child might describe their father? You were an only child. Your mother must have been dead or absent, why else did he have to send you to boarding school? You would have done everything for him, cooking cleaning. It was just the two of you for so long, but when you got older, he sent you away from him, and ever since then you have been trying to get that life back. First with Brad, and now with John. Why don't you grow up and learn to live for yourself?"  
Mary turned toward him. "Sherlock, may I ask you a question?"  
"What question?"  
"Did you ever have a dog?"  
"No, but Mummy kept horses."  
"It's not the same thing. Dogs are loyal. They love their owners. They just ... love them. John used to have a little bulldog named Brave. He took him everywhere. Even got in trouble for trying to sneak him into school. He used to sleep on the foot of his bed. One day, he got hit by a car. John wanted to fix him, but he didn't know how. His mother brought the car around and they wrapped him up in a blanket so that they could take him to the pet hospital. He died before they got there.  
"That night, the dog wasn't there to sleep with him. The hospital had disposed of the body. All that John had left was the blanket, so he tried to take the blanket to bed with him, but his mother wouldn't let him. It still had blood on it. She threw it out, but he dug it out of the bin and slept with it anyway.  
"When she found out, his mother made him burn it. They put it in a metal drum and burned it out behind the building. His parents told him to come inside as soon as the fire burned out. Whenever it got low, he would hunt around for old wood and cardboard. He took boxes out of bins and pried shingles off of buildings, but he kept it burning all night. His sister asked for another dog, but by then his parents were already planning divorce. He told me that after his dog died, their flat no longer felt like home to him.  
"John prides himself in his ability to stay anywhere. You've seen the flats he lives in. Bare things. He never bothers to decorate even. That's because no place was home to him, that is until he moved onto Baker Street with you. Two two one Baker street was his home, until the day you fell. You've taken his home away from him once. Don't you think that he deserves the chance to make a home of his own? To have a dog and a wife and maybe some children. A life on his own terms. Or do you plan to take that dream away from him too?"  
"I'm going to go check on something." Sherlock said and he climbed out of the car.  
The shop in the petrol station was small. Lestrade exited the bathroom and then stood in line to pay. "Something wrong, Sherlock?"  
Sherlock shook his head and turned away. He distractedly picked up a small box of cake on a shelf. Then he jumped up in shock. "Lestrade, we have to go back to London right now!"  
"What? Why?"  
"I was wrong about that man in the department store. Father Christmas was murdered!"


	16. Confrontation

Lestrade wove in and out of traffic, finally settling in the right lane before turning to glance at Sherlock. "Alright, we're on our way. Now can you tell me why it is so urgent that we go back to London after you dragged me all of the way out to Portsmouth?"

"Dragged you? I hardly dragged you. You volunteered."

"That isn't the point."

"Aren't we going to Cosham to find John?" Mary asked.

"No time," Sherlock said. "We can catch up with him later. We have to go back to London before all of the evidence is gone."

"Evidence of what?" Lestrade asked. "You said that Father Christmas was murdered. How do you think that he died now?"

"He died because he had a food allergy."

Lestrade glanced over at him. "But that's exactly what you concluded before. I don't understand what the rush..."

"The difference is that before I thought it was an accident. Now, I know that it was murder."

"Murder? Alright Sherlock, tell me how."

Sherlock pulled out a box with a picture of a cake on it. "The first thing that I did when I noticed the signs of shock was to read the ingredients on the box. They clearly stated that the cake included nuts. Strange of him not to notice. He was always so careful, wearing the bracelet, carrying medicine with him. Why would he forget to check the ingredients on the box? Then I noticed. This is the picture that was on the box in his dressing room. This very picture. However, the brand of cake with this picture on the cover is guaranteed nut free. I picked this up at the station. This box says, "_No nut were used in the making of this product, or any other product in our factory._" It is one of their selling points. He ate the cake because it looked like a cake that he had eaten many times before. Someone pasted a picture of this cake over a different one that had contained nuts. That means that someone meant for him to find it and eat it. Someone meant for him to go into shock. It was murder. Premeditated murder, and the murderer will get away if we don't get there before all of the evidence is gone."

Mary sighed. She slumped down in her chair and leaned against the door.

"What about you Mary? Do you want me to...I don't know, drop you off at the train station?"

"No, It's alright, Gregg. Sherlock is on a case. I know that nothing can defect him from that."

Lestrade stuck his phone in the holster and called the station. "Todd, this is Gregg Lestrade. Do you still have everything from the Department store case?"

"Yes, I was just about to close it."

"Well don't. Make sure that nothing gets thrown put. We've got some new evidence. Call in everyone who hasn't gone on holiday yet. I'll meet you there in ... looks like two hours going by the traffic."

"Alright, but they aren't going to be happy about it."

"It doesn't matter if they're happy. Just get them in there."

"Happy Christmas."

"Yes, and a Happy Christmas to you as well. I'm off." Lestrade cut off the call. "So Sherlock, in this plan of yours is their any time for us to get a bite to eat?"

"Please Lestrade. There's a murderer on the loose."

"Even so, I'd be perfectly happy to find him after dinner."

"Which is why, so often, you miss catching the true assailant."

Lestrade looked over his shoulder. "Has Mary fallen asleep?"

"It appears so. I'm sure that she'll wake by the time that we get there."

They pulled in next to a police cruiser. Lestrade stepped out of the car and walked over to William Todd, a short dark-haired man in a brown suit wearing black-rimmed glasses. "The rooms have been cleaned." he said, "The manager was quite insistent that everything get washed. They've thrown out the trash, vacuumed the carpet. He even had someone wash the walls. There's nothing to be found in the dressing room."

"Do you still have the cake box?"

"Yes, we bagged it for forensics."

"Let me see it."

Todd passed a plastic bag over to Lestrade who glanced at the cake box inside of it and then gave it to Sherlock.

"Look, see the jagged edge here. This has obviously been cut. I don't know how I missed it before." He passed the bag back. "Hurry before the rest of the evidence is gone."

"But Sherlock... they've already cleaned the room."

Sherlock walked into the building. He glanced at the dressing room as he passed but continued on down the hall until he found the manager's office. Lestrade and Todd entered to find Sherlock on his hands and knees near the waste basket.

"This has been emptied as well, but if we are lucky...Aha!" Sherlock lifted a sliver of cardboard. "Look, If I am correct this is a piece of the box that was used to deceive Father Christmas."

Todd leaned forward with an empty plastic bag and took the sliver of colored paper. Sherlock then opened the drawer with his gloved hands and pulled out the scissors. "As I expected."

"What?"

"Left handed scissors. The jagged edge on the box was on the left side. That suggests that person who cut the box was left handed, and guess who is left handed. The manager, of course. Look at this room. Everything is laid out for someone who has a dominant left hand."

Todd frowned, "A sliver of paper and a pair of scissors are not enough to condemn a man."

"They are, however, enough evidence for us to call him in for questioning." Lestrade said as he turned toward a uniformed officer who stood behind them. "Keep everyone out of this room. We might be able to find more evidence. Now, let's go find the manager."

The three of them walked into the store proper. It was full of people bustling around, trying to make their last minute Christmas purchases. The three of them walked abreast down the aisle. Mary was sitting on the stage reading to a child. She looked up at them as they approached, but they were looking past her at the manager who stood beside the sports counter. When he saw them coming he walked behind the counter and pulled out a crossbow pistol and a knife. Sherlock picked up his pace, but the manager pointed it at him and fired. The bolt passed by his ear and hit a column causing one of the customers to scream.

"Stay back!" The manager called.

"Please put that down, "Lestrade said walking forward. "We just want to talk to you."

"I said stay back! Unless you want this bolt in your forehead."

"What did Father Christmas ever do to you," Sherlock asked.

"He took Candice. Charmed her away. Everything was his fault."

"So you killed him."

"Yes, and I'll kill you if you don't let me pass."

"There's no way that you can get out, Wood." Lestrade said, "We have people at all of the exits."

The manager pulled a very large knife out of his pocket then. "We'll see shall we." He walked forward then and reached for the child beside Mary.

Mary pushed his hand away. "Go to your mother, run!" she said. The frustrated manager grabbed Mary's hair and pulled hard so that she fell back on the stage hitting her head. Lestrade and Sherlock ran forward only to find a crossbow in their face.

"Stay back. This is one of our professional sports crossbows. In the states, this is used to hunt deer. I assure you that it can tear into your flesh just as easily."

"Let go of her."

"No," he said as he pulled Mary to her feet placing the knife at her neck. "She's coming with me."

The man walked backwards across the stage holding Mary at knife point. He passed through a door at the back of the stage. Lestrade, Sherlock and Todd rushed forward, but the door was locked. Sherlock bashed his arm against the door but it didn't budge.

Lestrade took Todd's radio from his belt and called. "We have a hostage situation. I need someone at all of the exits, and I need a special operations team with firearms."

Sherlock stepped back as Todd attacked the door with a cricket bat. A murderer was taking Mary away. For a brief moment he thought, "and if she dies, then I will have John." Then he shook his head banishing the evil thought. He pulled out his phone and punched in the number of Jazz's phone. Then he sent a text.

**[Mary taken hostage. Come at once.]**

Then he sent the address.

Lestrade was barking into the radio. Wood had switched to trying to pick the lock. Pointless, as they were already far into the building by now. If he pulled back his thoughts to imagine the entire building, he could see their progress in his head. How they would turn down the corridors. At that intersection they might bump into a crowd. Mary would slow him down. She wouldn't fight him, but he would have to pull her along. The exits on the ground level would all be watched by now. The doors would be blocked so the logical course would be...

Sherlock turned and rushed across the room to the stairs. He flew up to the top of the building, pushing open the door to the roof. The air was chill so he pulled up his coat collar. Moments later, he heard the sound of steps coming up. He waited beside the door. Rushing out and grabbing the man as soon as it opened only to find that he was holding onto Lestrade's coat.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I was waiting to ambush Wood. Why are you here?"

"I was trying to follow you. I noticed you tearing across the floor so I supposed that you had a lead."

"I was hoping to cut them off, but your loud footsteps surely will have alerted them that this exit is being watched. They must have taken another way. Sherlock slammed his fist against the door in anger."

"And I suppose THAT didn't alert anyone of where we are."

"They could be hiding anywhere in the building now! At least he's unlikely to kill her outright. The way that he killed Father Christmas. It was sneaky, non-confrontational. Not the M.O. of a cold blooded killer."

"Unfortunately, there you are wrong, Sherlock. When this started, I called for a team to go to Wood's flat to look for evidence. They found some. The body of one Candice Singer, strangled."

"And if he's killed one woman, he could kill again. We've got to find him Lestrade. We've got to find him and get Mary back alive."

**End Runaway part 1.**


End file.
